The Antiquity
by OOHiMBLiND
Summary: Sequel to Thunderstorm. After a whirlwind of events during Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, things are not going to settle down anytime soon for the Chosen One. He must make decisions that will ultimately affect not only himself, but everyone he loves.
1. Allymaar Road

The Antiquity

(sequel to Thunderstorm)

New summary: Ron gets back from Romania with a couple surprises; Harry and Hermione struggle to understand their relationship; the students at Hogwarts have had a serious makeover, and I do not mean physically. All in all, the upcoming year at Hogwarts--and in the wizarding world at large--requires everyone to work together, but new events arising may make that feat much more difficult than anyone has bargained.

Don't forget! If you haven't read the NEWEST version of Thunderstorm (either on FanFiction or on my website), you MUST read it otherwise you will be COMPLETELY lost. Thanks for reading!!

**WHATEVER YOU'VE HEARD, THIS **_**IS**_** A H/Hr FANFIC. I'M GOING FOR A BIT OF REALISM HERE, SO PREPARE YOURSELF FOR SOME ANGST AND RELATIONSHIP TURBULANCE. I'M SICK OF A LOT OF THE WISHY WASHY, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, WE'RE-IN-LOVE-FOREVER STUFF I'VE BEEN READING AND REALIZED IT'S TIME FOR SOMETHING DIFFERENT. I KNOW I DO IT TOO. HOLLA AT ME WITH ANY COMMENTS.**

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"You would think they would have something better to write about by now," Harry growled, turning the front page of the Daily Prophet where a huge picture of his face beamed up him emblazoned with the caption _The Chosen One_. "I think I have been on the cover every day this past month!"

Hermione sighed, a quiet exasperation she'd learned to repress. Harry's relentless attitude towards the wizarding world's inevitable interest in the prophecy Voldemort had revealed to hundreds of people only weeks ago had become wearing, even though it was no less than she could have expected.

Nevertheless, she nudged him playfully with her toe. She was sprawled out on a blanket in the grass, while Harry leaned against a nearby tree. They had found the shade of the tall sycamore most enjoyable and most effective when attempting to escape the impenetrable heat of the mid afternoon sun. There was a small plate of fruit between them, courtesy of Hermione's dentist parents, and each clutched a sweating cup of sugarless lemonade, which tasted distinctly different, but tasty nonetheless.

In a huff of exaggerated fury, Harry slammed the copy of the newspaper down on the grass next to him and folded his arms. Hermione, who had been lying on her stomach reading out of her Ancient Runes textbook, rolled over to look at him.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, half irritated, half amused, "you can't get worked up about this. I mean, it's obvious they're going to print something about you to keep morale up."

Harry picked up the copy and held his face for Hermione to see. "I think this picture will give more people nightmares than high spirits, don't you? I don't know when they got this picture of me. I bet it's forged."

Deciding to veer Harry away from this dangerous and relentless subject, Hermione chose not to answer his rhetorical question. "Have you heard from Sirius yet? Has he moved into his new place?"

Harry's face brightened and he smiled, the picture of himself and the Prophet altogether vanishing from his mind. "Oh, yeah! He wrote last night. Hedwig arrived just after you'd gone to bed. He said it's really a beautiful area and not too many neighbors," chuckled Harry, "you'd think he's hoping to be able to fly around on broomsticks the way he talks about it."

Hermione grinned, for a moment, before her face turned solemn. "Did he say he's going to come get you tomorrow?"

Harry looked at her briefly then chose to look at a rabbit nibbling away at something in Mrs. Granger's garden. "No, actually, he said Dumbledore is coming. I need to go back to my aunt and uncle's house to get all my things."

A sad silence drifted between them. Harry had been staying with the Granger's for nearly three weeks while Sirius bought a new house and prepared it for Harry to move in. The original plan was to have Harry stay at Hermione's until mid July with a special assignment of aurors keeping guard around the area in shifts. But two days ago Hermione's grandfather died from a massive heart attack in his Belgium home. Now she and her parents were going to stay with her aunt in uncle for the funeral, which was the day after next. Hermione and Harry decided together it would be more awkward than they could handle to have him come along, so Harry wrote to Sirius about it and although Sirius wasn't completely ready, he said he would love nothing more than for Harry to move in.

"When you get back," said Harry, softly, reaching out to grasp her ankle, "you will have to come stay with Sirius and me. I bet Ron will be back by then."

Hermione nodded, her gaze drifting elsewhere as memories flooded her eyes in the form of tears again. One trickled down her cheek, surprising her somewhat, and she wiped it away seeming to come to her senses again.

"Over the last couple days I've felt really foolish for being so sad to lose a grandfather I really never knew while Ron is dealing with his loss," said Hermione, sniffing back another tear.

Harry shook his head. "Ron knows what it's like to lose someone now, he would tell you not to be stupid and to go ahead and cry until you feel better. Remember how he was the days after Mrs. Weasley died? If he can be that way, so can you."

"But it was his mother! This was a man I met once, and that was before I even knew I was a witch," Hermione protested.

"Come on, Hermione, it's a member of your family! Don't be ridiculous," Harry said, giving her a look of pure exasperation. "It's not like you think any less of Ron's suffering."

Hermione considered him for a moment, looking as if she actually agreed with him. Before she could answer, however, there was a shout from the back door of the house and they both started in surprise.

"Dinner's ready, kids!" Mr. Granger hollered, giving them a wave.

"Alright, dad, be right there," Hermione called back, shifting herself into a seated position. She looked at Harry. "It's so sad this is our last evening together."

He gave her a knowing smile. "I know. I can't believe I've already been here three weeks, it's flown by so fast! Who knew there was a Muggle family I could actually tolerate?" Hermione giggled.

Allymaar Road was not unlike Privet Drive in its identical houses and lush green lawns, but its homeowners were much friendlier than those on Privet Drive. By the end of Harry's first week of stay at the Granger's, he'd met over six of Hermione's neighbors, all so pleased that she had found "someone special at boarding school." Without Aunt Petunia's persistent nose pressing up against the windows hoping to catch her own neighbors doing something illegal or fishy—most likely to distract herself from the reality that they might be suspicious of her own family—it occurred to Harry how normal life could be living with and around Muggles.

Hermione was embarrassed that her parents insisted on introducing Harry to all of their neighbors, but Harry couldn't have been more pleased. He tried not to let on or reveal too much of his pleasure, but it felt wonderful to be treated as a normal boy around people who could tolerate his kind. Not once had he heard the familiar utterances of Uncle Vernon by Mr. or Mrs. Granger. They did not refer to her as a pronoun, tell her that being a witch was an abnormality, or constantly avoid mentioning aloud that she and Harry were apart of the witches and wizards of England—though it would be quite tactless to reveal what they are. Uncle Vernon, when needed, stuck to phrases like "your thing" for Harry's wand, "your lot" when referring to wizards in any way, or "funny stuff" for the weird things that happened around Harry regardless of using magic.

What was more, none of the Muggle neighbors did the familiar sketch of recognition upon hearing his name. A member of the wizarding community would shake his hand while unflatteringly stare at his scar, then mention how much he looked like his father but had his mother's eyes. Instead, he told the Muggle neighbors the story that his aunt and uncle had told him for eleven years: that it was a brand of the night his parents died in a car crash. The sympathy he received was lavishing and he soaked it up, to Hermione's amusement.

Even though he tried not to let on about how much he enjoyed being around her Muggle parents and Muggle neighborhood, because he mainly did not want to become attached to such a nonwizarding world, he had a shrewd suspicion that Hermione knew he was loving his time at her house. Of course, Harry frequently exclaimed how relieved he was not to be stuck in Privet Drive for an entire summer, impatiently waiting an Owl from Ron or Sirius to be summoned elsewhere.

At the end of last term, Ron had accepted a job in Romania working with Charlie, importing a new breed of dragons for a month. Harry and Hermione had only received one Owl apiece from Ron, who said they were so busy that he barely had time to sleep. He also said that he would be home the first week of July and wanted to come stay with Sirius, too. His father, however, insisted he come home for a week first, then he would be permitted to spend the remainder of the summer holiday with Harry and Sirius.

The amount of time he'd spent at Hermione's home was, in his opinion, finally approaching its close. It was wonderful to be away from the Dursley's and to be with his girlfriend, but they had both come very close to ripping out each other's throats after some time. It would of course take them a couple hours to sit down together and apologize, which Harry found to be himself apologizing more and more recently from sudden outbreaks of frustration with the Prophet or when he went into spits of outrage that no one else could possibly understand the predicament Voldemort had put him in.

The prophecy Voldemort had smashed and revealed to everyone battling in Hogwarts at the beginning of June was, to Harry's dismay, something that would forever brand him a marked man. The more the Prophet wrote about 'Harry Potter: The Chosen One' the more he grew frustrated by how little everyone understood what it actually had meant. Dumbledore had explained it to him the night after the battle had ended. Voldemort had made it impossible for Harry to live a normal life. From the time he was a year old, Voldemort had chosen to mark Harry as his equal, but having no idea the disastrous consequences that lie ahead. After going into exile for ten years, Voldemort had reemerged into the wizarding world with a new body, a new soul, and a fresh desire for Harry's blood, which he'd fought for at a significant price to himself. Now, having escaped Lord Voldemort yet again, Harry finally new that it was because of a prophecy that he was to battle the dark lord until either he died at Voldemort's hand, or Voldemort at his.

"Dumbledore will prepare you for whatever you need to meet Voldemort in the end, Harry," Hermione insisted, after Harry had carelessly admitting his feelings on the subject. "He told you that this next school year would be spent in learning how to defeat him! Why are you so worried?"

Harry realized that he wasn't worried so much as annoyed. Dumbledore had been right on another account: even if Harry hadn't heard the prophecy, he would have wanted vengeance for his parents in any case, and for all those Voldemort murdered while trying to kill him. But no one, even Dumbledore, could know what it feels like to have the most vicious, blood thirsty wizard want you dead and know that your own death clung only to time, how ever long it took for that prophecy to be fulfilled.

After some time, Harry's given up voicing his fears because Hermione's insistence that Dumbledore would prepare him did nothing to ease his mind. At times he even felt indignant at how tactless Hermione was acting towards the whole topic, which was usually when he lashed out in anger and stormed off into the garden where he would circle it in huffs of mingled frustration and fear.

He'd even begun practicing occlumency again, trying to hide these feelings from Hermione, and, sometimes, from himself. At night he slipped the book out of his pillow case, after Hermione had gone to bed and he was left alone in his guest room, and refresh his memory on how to properly affect occlumency as a weapon. He felt guilty at times because he knew deep down that Hermione was just trying to help and with very little explanation he could, in fact, make her understand why his frustration leaked out so often. But it had become easier to just close everything out and try not to focus on it altogether.

Hermione had noticed him doing this several times. They would be sitting outside under the oak tree and he would come across with a blank, unknowing face, and she would look so worried that she wouldn't say anything for hours on end. Instead she would cast furtive looks at him and purse her lips, almost looking offended that he'd rather sulk in his own misery than confide in her. But still she would not say anything.

Occlumency had proven to be useful, however. Over the past week, Harry noticed a significant downswing in his moods and outbreaks. He hadn't been irritated by any of Hermione's comments and they got along better than they had all summer. They'd been laughing again, making jokes, and more civilized. Something had definitely happened in their relationship, though, and it was neither something they would admit or attempt to uncover because it was too easy going along as they were. Occlumency had become second nature to Harry, but there were times he still could not ignore nagging feelings in the back of his mind.

The apprehensions he felt about his relationship with Hermione were nothing compared to those he had about his survival against Voldemort, but they still wore on him heavily, like an extra burden he'd been forced to bear. Never would he mention this to her, though. Not once throughout all of their fights or his doubts had he stopped loving her. She was an inexpressible comfort. But for some reason, he thought that their love had changed, become somewhat childish and distant in the wake of the prophecy and the duty he was enslaved into. There were times when he couldn't tell if it was Hermione that he was unsure of or himself. He did love her, but what kind of love was it? How could he tell what true love was? He had never been in love before, and he reckoned neither had she.

"Harry? Where'd you go?" asked Hermione, who had stood up and was now looking down at him with a strange expression.

Harry coughed. "No where, just…you know," he grinned and held up a hand. She helped him to his feet and they walked into the house together.

The basement of Number 9 Allymaar Road was spacious and cozy. A cold fireplace stood magnificently against the wall facing the backyard, and was surrounded by tastefully patterned furniture that gave it its dormant homey quality. He loved sitting on the sofa late into the night, reading or watching Hermione read, or simply doing nothing.

They'd grown accustomed to watching the news at night with her parents, a dramatic change from sneaking around the Dursley's last summer trying to catch snippets of what Voldemort might be up to. Now neither his motives for watching the news nor Voldemort's attacks were a secret. As Voldemort, who's forces were severely disabled since last spring, snuck around Great Britain and surrounding areas murdering and cursing a path that led straight back to him, Harry sat helplessly in front of the TV next to Hermione feeling extremely edgy and frustrated that he was still an under-aged wizard, incapable of doing anything of significance.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed to have an inkling that the events on the news were related to wizards, either from what Hermione had told them about the reemergence of Lord Voldemort or simply because of how irritated Harry would get after watching the news. After the first week of Harry's stay, they began suggesting other evening events and began taking Harry and Hermione out for dinner to nice restaurants, to movie theaters, and even bowling. Even though Harry grew up in a strictly non magical world, the Muggle customs were still obtrusively strange, since the Dursley's never took him anywhere.

On Harry's last night with them, however, Mrs. Granger wanted to cook something special. The basement was filled with the smell of potatoes, French onion soup, and steak grilling out on the patio. He inhaled deeply and smiled, food could relieve him of all his unwanted thoughts, even forget he was angry, or that his death clock was ticking away precious moments of his life.

He felt a hand on his chest and looked down. Hermione had stopped walking towards the stairs and was looking up at him, grinning slightly.

"What?" asked Harry, feeling a smile quiver at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you realize you've grown nearly five inches since you've been here?" she asked, tugging playfully on his shirt. A smug look over took his face, and his heart leapt in that familiar whooshing sensation. Hermione glanced towards the stairs, then back at him. "Before we go up…" she stood on the tips of her toes and planted a kiss on his lips, brief, but allowed her mouth to linger around his for several seconds before pulling away. "I've really enjoyed having you stay here, Harry."

He smiled mesmerized, licking his lips. "Believe me, I have enjoyed staying." She giggled and tugged him towards the stairs.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Granger was dishing potatoes into a beautiful piece of china that had birds painted on the outside. She smiled as they walked in. The first moment Harry met her, he could tell where many of Hermione's mannerisms came from, as well as her bushy brown hair. Mrs. Granger was a very pretty woman, her eyes were big and brown and her hair hung in soft curls to her shoulders. She was only a couple inches taller than Hermione, making Harry a good foot taller than her.

"You kids can have a seat, your father is just taking up the steaks," said Mrs. Granger, washing her hands in the kitchen sink and indicating with a nod that they should seat themselves at the table. Harry slid into a chair across from Hermione, grinning at the prospect of so much food. "I remember you saying that steak and potatoes are your favorite, Harry."

"They are, Mrs. Granger, they definitely are. That French onion soup smells wonderful, too," he said, looking over at her.

"You are too kind," she sighed, stopping to pause and look at them. "We certainly have loved having you here. It gave Hermione something to do besides read all summer."

Harry looked back at Hermione, who was blushing. The first week of his stay had necessitated the cause to overcome any initial, though inevitable, embarrassment of her parents fawning over her first real boyfriend. Harry had a feeling she hadn't mentioned Viktor Krum to them, much to his liking.

"Steaks all around!" Mr. Granger said loudly, coming in from the patio with a large tray, sending steam towards the ceiling and a strong, captivating smell enveloping the room. "Hope you are hungry because these steaks won't eat themselves."

Dinner at the Grangers was always pleasant. He was constantly bombarded with questions about the Dursley's and his childhood, they wanted to know about why he ended up with them and were so understanding when they'd heard his parents were murdered when he was a baby. They did, of course, know that he was the one to have thwarted Voldemort twice, and now thrice, though their actual understanding of everything in particular was a bit understated. They did their best.

Their last evening was no different. They laughed at the times they'd spent together, eating around the dinner table, going to various places around Britain, and talking about what Harry and Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts would bring. Mr. Granger had been really interested in Quidditch and was constantly bombarding Harry with questions about the game and asking him to commentate what an actual game was like. Hermione was able to jump in from time to time with her own version of Harry's outstanding feats, including his first year when he managed to stay on his bucking broom until she had time to ignite the robes of teacher whom they thought was cursing his broom.

Supper ended with a large bowl of ice cream piled high with chocolate syrup, strawberries, and nuts. Mrs. Granger cleared the table with the help of her husband, insisting once again that it was not necessary for Harry, the guest, to help. Thus, Harry and Hermione retreated to the sitting room adjacent to the kitchen.

The sun was beginning to set, clearly visible between the houses across the street and through the trees. The sky was now a haze of purple and red smoke, and sunlight streamed through the large windows along the sitting room's longest side.

Harry sprawled out on the floor, feeling contentedly full, but nonetheless ached with how much he had just eaten. Hermione giggled and took up in an arm chair close to his feet. She stared out the window, attempting to leave a smile on her face, but it didn't seem to want to stay. Harry sat up and stared at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, holding himself up by wrapping his arms around his knees. It also seemed to relieve the pain inside his stomach.

She didn't look at him. "I just don't want you to leave," said Hermione, her voice so quiet he barely heard her.

"Oh, Hermione," said Harry, a smile spreading across his lips, "we'll only be apart for, what, a week or two? You're coming to stay with me and Sirius after the funeral, aren't you?"

Now she looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Yes, I would love to, but these few weeks have been so…special. Uninterrupted by normal, every day life. We've been in our own world. Going to stay with you and Sirius will mean that school is coming…and then everything will be different again."

Harry looked confused. "What are you talking about? School makes everything normal, besides whomever we have to fight out of Hogwarts at the end of the year. Quirrell…Voldemort…a giant basilisk…Voldemort…death eaters…Voldemort." Hermione seemed to smile in spite of herself. "I think everything will be better once we get back to school, which is not to say that our time together here hasn't been amazing."

"Hey, you two," Mr. Granger called from the top of the staircase, "we're heading downstairs for a nightcap. Harry, did you say Professor Dumbledore is coming at seven tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, sir," replied Harry.

"Alright, then," Mr. Granger smiled. "We'll see you in the morning. Sleep well." Hermione's parents disappeared down the stairs. Harry glanced at his watch. It was already eight o'clock.

Harry looked back over at Hermione, who had resumed looking out the window in a catatonic state, not really looking at anything, but determinedly not looking at Harry.

"Come on, Hermione, what's really wrong? You don't honestly want to spend our last night together like this?" said Harry, releasing his arms and crawling over to the foot of her chair. He pulled himself up so he was kneeling and looking only slightly upwards into her face.

Hermione shook her head and put on a smile. "Nothing. You're right. of course, we don't want to waste our last night, do we." They stared at each other a moment. Harry thought that Hermione, perhaps, was thinking like him: his parting might in fact be better for their relationship, put less strain on each other at a very trying and difficult time. But they gazed into each other's eyes without saying anything, and the doubts and fears clouding their mind were once again expelled by the unwillingness to begin an uncomfortable subject.


	2. Goodbyes, Now and Forever

As Harry packed his last pair of socks into his trunk there was a small knock at his door. He turned and walked around the bed inside the comfortable guest room, who's soft greenish color gave it a pleasant atmosphere in contrast to his puking peach walls at Number 4 Privet Drive.

Hermione stood in the doorway, holding two cups of tea, smiling. He smiled back and accepted a cup she offered him, then stood aside to let her in the room, closing the door behind her.

"We're breaking a couple rules here," he said quietly, glancing somewhat nervously at the door, grinning in any case.

She grinned slyly and stood on her tip toes to kiss him good morning. The kiss lasted a bit longer than their usual morning kiss, but he fell into it without realizing.

"My dad got called in to work on an emergency," said Hermione after she pulled away, sitting herself on his bed. "And this," she indicated the tea, "was my mother's idea."

He raised his cup in a cheery thank you, took a sip, then set it on the dresser by the door.

"I can't believe I'm leaving in twenty minutes," he sighed, "I really got used to this place." His eyes swept around the now so familiar room, now stripped of all his things. The photographs, newspaper clippings, and letters from Ron, Hagrid, and, unbeknownst to Hermione, Ginny were packed.

Hermione didn't say anything, but continued to sip her tea. He watched her for a moment, completely content.

Harry cast a look at Hermione before bending over to look under his bed for spare clothing. "When are you leaving today?" he asked.

"Our plane leaves at ten, but with customs and all that security, my dad says we need to leave here by eight-thirty. So not long after you leave with Dumbledore." Harry emerged from the floor and stood up straight, holding a small, light red t-shirt, clearly not his own. He smirked and held it out for Hermione to see. She blushed. "I've been looking for that shirt. God, don't let my mother see."

Harry laid it on his chest as though seeing how it might fit him. "I dunno, I think it might look good on me…" he tossed it at Hermione. "You think I'd actually point out to your mother that you left your shirt in my room? Yeah, I'd really be welcomed back."

Hermione giggled through her red cheeks and hastily stuffed the shirt into one of the pockets of her pajamas.

"Are you going to wear that when Dumbledore picks you up?" she asked, setting down her tea on the bedside table and walking over to him. He was still in his pajamas, a thin grey t-shirt and long striped pants.

He looked down at his attire and shrugged. "I expect Dumbledore will look about the same."

Hermione snorted. "Oh yes, I'm sure Dumbledore wears muggle clothing to bed. I would expect to see him in nothing less than a long, billowing night dress. Bright blue with stars and moons, probably moving like the night's sky."

Harry laughed, nodding and letting his mind wander with the type of clothing Dumbledore might wear to bed. "I set my clothes out," he said, nodding at a pile of folded clothes at the foot of his bed. "I doubt Dumbledore really cares what I wear."

Hermione smiled as she came to a stop right in front of him. "Oh, but don't you still have to pack these?" she asked, softly.

He raised an eyebrow. "That I do."

Her fingers moved to the bottom of his shirt and they played with the hem. "Well then, let me help," she grinned. Harry put his hands in the air and she slowly brought the shirt up and over his head, she folded it carefully and set it in his trunk. He puffed out his bare chest, ever scrawnier by the amount he'd grown that summer already. Hermione smirked when she looked back at him, her eyes grazing over his torso.

"I had better continue packing," he said, picking up his fresh t-shirt, a nice blue and green horizontal striped one that he'd bought in a muggle store, and pulled it over his head. "Have you finished packing?"

"Yes, I stayed up a bit late last night. I wish I was seventeen, I could finish both our packing then we could spend your last fifteen minutes together," she sighed and plopped back down on the bed.

He was pulling off his pajama pants when he paused and looked up at her. "What do you call this?" he asked, smirking.

"You know what I mean," she said, giving him a playfully contemptuous smile.

"I think that about does it," he said, looking around the room again, fastening the button on his fresh pair of jeans and tossing his folded pair of pajama pants onto the top layer of his trunk. "If I forget anything, will you bring it to Sirius' when you come?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course," she looked out the window as the sun peeked over the rooftop of a nearby house, sending a long stream of sunlight into the room. "Did you double check the drawers?"

Harry shook his head and did so, even opening the closet and crouching down to examine the dark floor, reaching up to feel the shelf above his head. He'd just pulled down a book when there was a knock at the front door and he stood still in his spot, turning to look at Hermione. She had caught her breath, too.

"Hello! You must be Mrs. Granger," said Dumbledore's loud, eccentric voice.

"Yes, yes. And you must be Professor Dumbledore. Come in! Come in!" said Mrs. Granger pleasantly.

Harry threw his copy of _Unfogging the Future_ into his trunk, latched the locks, and picked it up. Hermione got up off the bed and led the way out of the room, down the stairs, and into the sitting room.

"Harry! Hermione! How lovely to see you. How are you this fine morning?" Dumbledore spread his arms wide in greeting. It took a moment for Harry to adjust his eyes to Dumbledore's severely non muggle attire. Though students at Hogwarts were quite used to his choice of dress, it occurred to Harry that he'd never actually seen the headmaster outside of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore wore long purple robes with glistening silver lining. His grey beard was as fine and long as ever, neatly tucked into his waist band. On top his head was a silver cap, almost like a night cap, but with a different sort of fabric and designed distinctly for being worn out of bed.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, shyly. "We're fine, how are you?"

"I am doing well," said Dumbledore, his broad smile nearly hidden beneath his long beard. "I am afraid that Harry and I don't have much time. His aunt, uncle, and cousin are going on vacation this afternoon and we need to get to Little Whinging before they leave as we have very important matters to discuss with them.

Harry let out a small groan. He knew his relatives were going on vacation, but he had hoped they'd already left. Dumbledore pretended not to notice.

"Are you packed and ready, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes moving across the trunk in Harry's grasp.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Where is your owl, Hedwig, then?" asked Dumbledore.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. He dropped his suitcase and ran through the living room to the back porch where Mr. Granger had fastened Hedwig's cage to the side of the house. There was his beautiful Hedwig, fast asleep in her cage, the remains of the previous evening's frog at the bottom. He fastened the lock on the cage's door and removed it from the wall.

Hedwig awoke, squawking quietly at the sudden jolt Harry affected on her cage. Harry grinned in at her. "Hedwig, we're going to live with Sirius!" he whispered, poking his finger in at her. Hedwig nibbled his fingers affectionately.

Harry reemerged into the sitting room with Hedwig's cage tucked under his arm. "I would have remembered her eventually," said Harry with a smile. "I could have just done a summoning charm at school if it took me that long." Mrs. Granger looked slightly perplexed, but Hermione giggled and Dumbledore chuckled good naturedly.

"I will go ahead and send these right on to Sirius'," Dumbledore said, still smiling. He removed his wand from what looked like his sleeve itself and flicked it at Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage. They vanished, and Mrs. Granger gasped, then clasped her hands together in delight. Dumbledore bowed humbly before turning back to Harry. "Anything else you might have forgotten?"

"Luggage wise, no," said Harry, shrugging and casting Hermione a look.

"Well then, I must insist we be going. Mrs. Granger tells me they have a plane to catch in a matter of hours and we mustn't push them back further than is necessary," said Dumbledore, with a nod at Mrs. Granger.

"Don't be silly," said Mrs. Granger, smiling sweetly from Harry to Dumbledore. She turned to Harry. "It's been so wonderful having you here, dear. You are welcome back any time." She closed in the space between them, which was barely two steps, and embraced him warmly.

Harry hugged her back, trying to put a lot of things he felt unable to say into the hug. "Thank you, Mrs. Granger. You have a wonderful home and I have felt so welcome." She patted his cheek gently and blushed.

"Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Granger addressed the headmaster with a quick look at Hermione, "I have some lovely agapanthas that you must see."

"Ah, the agapanthus, my favorite flower," said Dumbledore, "yes, I must have a quick look." He winked at Harry. "Please meet me outside shortly, Harry. Goodbye Ms. Granger, I will see you at school."

"Goodbye, professor," said Hermione, blushing slightly. She and Harry watched as Mrs. Granger led Dumbledore outside and towards her garden.

Harry shuffled his feet uncomfortably and avoided Hermione's gaze for a moment, preferring a spot on the floor instead.

"Well," he began, "I guess this is goodbye." He looked up and found that Hermione was looking at him, her eyes full of tears. His face softened and he opened his arms just in time as she ran into them. She hugged him tightly, and he pulled her in close, feeling her soft bushy hair tickle his nose. He kissed the top of her head.

With a sound similar to that of someone pulling out the plug to a drain, she emerged from his shirt and wiped her eyes. "Oh I am so silly," she said, with a small laugh, "I will be seeing you in a week!"

"Ah, come now," said Harry reassuringly, "I need to know I will be missed. Don't worry, though, I will be at Sirius' when you're ready to come."

"I know, I know," she said, taking a few deep breaths. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him. "Well, you'd better go before I fall apart completely." He grinned, kissed her once more, then left through the front door without looking back. He stepped outside into the brilliant light and felt suddenly peculiar. The door slammed shut behind him and he briefly looked back at it, wondering what it was he was feeling. He was sad, certainly, that he had to leave Hermione in such a state, his departure on top of her grandfather's funeral in a day's time.

He physically shook himself and descended the steps in front of the house and saw, to his right, Dumbledore and Mrs. Granger walking towards him.

"Goodbye, again, Harry. Take care and have a good term," said Mrs. Granger, with a little wave as she walked up the steps Harry had just come down.

"Goodbye," Harry said, waving back.

"It was a pleasure, Mrs. Granger. Say hello to your husband, I am sorry I wasn't able to meet him," said Dumbledore, bowing ever so slightly. Mrs. Granger gave them both a warm smile and disappeared behind the front door.

Instinctively, Harry followed Dumbledore down the drive and into the street. Cars were still parked either on the side streets or on the driveways of surrounding houses and there weren't many lights on indoors yet. Harry glanced unforgettably at several houses, containing Hermione's kindly neighbors, before turning his back to them and heading with Dumbledore in the opposite direction.

"Well, Harry, did you enjoy your time with the Grangers?" asked Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes sparkling down at him.

"Yes, sir. They are wonderful people. After the Dursley's, I didn't think much about muggles I might actually enjoy," said Harry.

"As is the case with many wizards," Dumbledore said, looking straight ahead again, his smile faltering. "We allow ourselves to remember the absolute worst confrontations with muggles and then dismiss them as a bad job altogether." Harry didn't answer, though his face felt suddenly hot. Dumbledore seemed to sense this. "Not to worry, Harry, we all make the mistake. I would encourage you to remember that stigma, however, and realize the hole we wizards have dug ourselves into. Just as your relatives cannot stand the fact magic exists and that they are related to someone who possess that magical talent, we wizards see muggles as incapable and subservient to our ways when, in fact, we are all human beings thrust into separate walks of life."

"I've never thought of it that way, sir" said Harry, after a moment of thought.

"When you've lived as long as I, Harry, there's not much left to do besides ponder the ways of man beyond what is immediately comprehensible to everyone as a whole," said Dumbledore, a bit sadly. "I, unfortunately, have had the misfortune of not allowing myself the opportunity to think things through before acting upon them and have dearly paid the price."

"You, sir?" asked Harry, slightly shocked. "I can't imagine…"

Dumbledore chuckled, and Harry stopped talking. "Even I, Harry? Please do not put me above your everyday man. This is one case when I definitely do not deserve such treatment." He stopped walking and looked around. They had reached the corner of the street where to the right there was an alley and to the left was a park, still hidden beneath shadows of elm trees. "I think this will do, Harry."

Harry looked around, bemused. "Excuse me, professor?"

"We are to disapparate to Privet Drive," said Dumbledore, looking down at Harry. "Much too far for brooms or the Knight Bus, neither of which I wholeheartedly fancy."

"I thought I needed to be seventeen to disapparate," said Harry, trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice.

"Yes, you do," said Dumbledore, smiling. "That is why I will be taking you along with me by use of side-along apparition. Quite safe," he added, when Harry still looked a bit reproachful. "Now if you will grasp my arm, just tightly enough, I am only guiding you. Brace yourself, this may be slightly uncomfortable, it does take some getting used to. Ready?"

Harry held tightly to Dumbledore's arm, not exactly sure what he should be bracing himself for. "Yes…sir…" he mumbled.

"Alright, then. One…two…three!" Dumbledore turned on the spot and everything went dark. All at once Harry felt as though he was being sucked through a giant rubber tube large enough only for a beetle. Air pressed at his lung as his chest felt like it was to cave in, he tried to take a breath and couldn't. He was about to panic when light hit his eyes again and a fresh stream of air flew into his lungs. He gasped as he felt earth beneath his feet and stumbled forward, his hand releasing Dumbledore's arm.

He returned from his fit of panicked gulps and stood up straight, looking around and immediately recognizing where they were. They had arrived just after the alley way where he and Dudley had been attacked by dementors the previous year.

"Are you alright?" asked Dumbledore, kindly.

"Yes, professor…" said Harry, looking sheepish and feeling embarrassed. He didn't look forward to gaining a license in this particular area of magic. He followed Dumbledore down the road, walking side by side in silence he felt somewhat odd to accompany a man that, in any other neighborhood, might be welcomed and showered with affection and praise. In this particular neighborhood, however, he might as well have been a dung beetle for the amount of attention he was to receive. If any house dwellers looked upon the duo, they would thrust their curtains shut so quickly they might be concealing something indecent.

It took them several minutes to reach number four, and once the house was in sight, a deep cringe of hatred welled inside Harry's stomach. He sincerely hoped this would be the last time he'd ever have to see the place where many of his worst years had taken place.

The approached the end of the driveway, where Vernon Dursley's company car sat, idle. Dumbledore stuck out a hand to stop Harry, and turned to face him.

"Before we enter, Harry, I must reveal why it is we are really here," said Dumbledore, looking down upon him. His blue eyes flickered with something Harry could not recognize, but he nodded, and Dumbledore continued. "We are here to get your things and bring them to Sirius', but we are also here so that I may have a word with your aunt Petunia. As you remember, I send her a howler last year, which she took very seriously and convinced your uncle to keep you, however unwillingly." His eyes turned cold, and Harry suddenly felt fearful of his headmaster, even though the look in his eyes weren't directed at him personally. "I must ask that while I speak with your aunt and uncle that you remain in your bedroom, packing up your things. I will not harm them, although I imagine you wouldn't complain if I did, but I must speak with them without you present. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, feeling anxious. "But—"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "No buts, Harry. I simply have some matters to discuss that you will learn of at a later time. Now, let us enter. After you, I think." Harry nodded and led the way to the front door, debating all the way up the drive wondering if he should knock or just walk in.

He was saved from making the choice by the front door opening before he had lifted his hand to either knock or grab the handle, and his aunt Petunia stood there, hesitating only a fraction of a second before shrieking in fear. She grasped at her chest and felt for the door frame to hold her upright.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dursley," said Dumbledore, placing both his hands on Harry's shoulder. "Sorry to disturb you so early, but we have a little business we must take care of before you depart on your vacation."

Appearing to be to numb from fright to answer or respond properly, aunt Petunia merely gave a single nod and backed into the hallway, where uncle Vernon had come galumphing from the kitchen, his mustache blowing upwards from his deep breaths.

"What's this? What's going on in—" fumed uncle Vernon, who stopped short by the exquisite sight of Dumbledore, his eyes following the tall wizard all the way from his hat down to the bottom of his floor length robe. Then his eyes found Harry, standing slightly off to the right next to aunt Petunia, and his brow furrowed.

"Good morning, Mr. Dursley," said Dumbledore, giving him a bow similar to the one he'd given Mrs. Granger. "I am Albus Dumbledore and I am the headmaster at Hogwarts, the school, of course, that Harry attends." He did not bother to shake a hand, but turned to Harry. "You may go pack your things."

Petunia and Vernon exchanged wary glances, their mouths appeared to have been shut by a silencing charm. Either that or they were simply too lost for words. Harry didn't give them a second look before he ran up the stair case, still cluttered with pictures of an aging Dudley. The door to his room was shut tightly. He turned the knob and had to force it open with his shoulder for it to open.

The sickly peach color Petunia had chosen to paint the room jumped out at him like a wart on a hag's nose, appreciating very much his guest room at the Grangers all the more. He looked around, feeling that familiar pang of unease and severe dislike as the memories of summer holidays rushed back to the front of his mind. The room was exactly as he'd left it the night he left for the Granger's. Books piled in the corner, his closet door slightly ajar, and the pillow of his bed askew.

He sighed deeply and walked to the center. Why did Dumbledore need to talk to his aunt and uncle without him? Was it something Harry could not know, or was he reprimanding them for years of mistreatment? Somewhere deep inside of him, Harry hoped that Dumbledore would transfigure them into some disgusting animal, not unlike the ferret the fake Moody had turned Malfoy into during their fourth year. But of course Dumbledore would never do such a thing.

As he looked around the room, he wondered what else he really wanted to take. The clothes he left in his closet were the ones Dudley had grown out of, nothing he particularly cared about. The alarm was broken, another thing he'd inherited from Dudley, and something he wouldn't bring along to Sirius' anyway. Sirius would probably yell at him for thinking he'd need something as silly as an alarm clock, and he chuckled at the thought.

He bent down and retrieved the remainder of his hidden things from the loose floorboard in the middle of the room, in any case, all contained in a pillow case. There were spare parchments and quills, a bottle of ink, some photographs, and the only piece of his old Nimbus 2000 he'd saved after it had been broken into pieces by the Whomping Willow, the handle, which was about the length of his hand.

He set the pillow on his bed and stood, looking around the room again. He opened drawers, looked under his bed, examined the floor in the dark corners and under his dresser; the top shelf of his closet, remembering doing the same thing not even an hour ago at Hermione's, and finally determined that he had everything he needed.

On his bed, now, aside from the pillow case was only an armful of seemingly meaningless junk. There were several birthday cards, a couple letters from Ron, Hermione and Sirius, the photograph of his first Quidditch team, the mirror Sirius gave him that he was almost positive he'd lost, the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas in his first year, and a collection of random photographs that had fallen behind his dresser.

He picked up the pile of photographs and flipped through them, smiling as he remembered little Colin Creevey handing them to him at the end of each of the last three years. The first was of he, Ron, and Hermione sitting at the Gryffindor table in their fourth year, the night after the first task. His heart grew warm at the memory, remembering how happy he'd been after Ron had finally let go of his grudge that Harry had been entered into the TriWizard tournament.

"Blimey, that was a horrible year," mumbled Harry aloud. He moved on to the next photograph. Hagrid! The loveable half-giant was grinning broadly in front of his hut with his cowardly boar hound Fang. He chuckled. The next photograph was solely of himself and Hermione, a rather good one, he thought. Hermione's hair was blowing in the wind, slightly, and made her look more beautiful than ever. She was wearing that favorite t-shirt of his, the light green one. Her eyes were wide and though she wasn't smiling, her eyes were full of that gleam of hope he cherished so much in her. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and was staring off to the side. He couldn't exactly remember the moment, nor seeing Colin take this photograph, but he knew it must have been a recent one.

"Is that your girlfriend?" asked a low, grunting voice behind him.

Harry spun around and started, nearly reaching for his wand until he saw the pink face of his cousin, Dudley. Dudley had his hands shoved in his pocket and looked somewhat intimidated by the mere fact he had spoken to Harry in a non threatening and almost kindly way.

Harry's mouth dropped open and he glanced from the photograph, which he now realized to be visible to Dudley, and then back at his cousin.

"Yes," said Harry, clearing his throat and looking questioningly at his cousin. "Hermione." He wasn't exactly sure why he had responded, nor why the simple act of kindness Dudley had just bestowed upon him struck him so powerfully.

"And…you've been at her house all this time?" asked Dudley, not really looking Harry in the eyes, but still looking in the general direction of the photograph.

"Uh, yes. Yes I have…been," Harry said, still not getting over the shock of having a civilized conversation with his normally unreasonable cousin.

Dudley nodded, the corners of his mouth almost forming a smile, but rather seemed to be smirking. "That bloke you came with…he's down talking to my parents. I can't hear anything, or get through the entry to the living room. It's very strange."

Harry nodded. "That's magic, for you," he said offhandedly. A look of fear briefly crossed over Dudley's face and he gulped. "Professor Dumbledore would never hurt your parents," Harry said quickly, "I don't know what they're talking about, but if Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to hear, you can bet no one will." Dudley nodded again, apparently the only thing he could do.

"Are you, uh, are you not staying here…anymore?" asked Dudley, his tone casual, but hesitant.

Harry shook his head. "I'm going to live with my godfather." Dudley's face turned white and surely he was remembering the moment Harry told them all that his godfather was a convicted murderer, on the run after having escaped from Azkaban. Harry laughed and Dudley turned even whiter. "Turns out he was innocent of those murders," chuckled Harry, "he was framed." A little color returned to Dudley's face, but not much. "You get your room back, though," Harry said, nodding around the room.

Dudley shrugged. "Don't need it much anymore, do I?" he glanced at Harry's closet. "I 'spect mum will want to sanitize it from ceiling to floor." Harry laughed out loud. Dudley had just made a joke. "What?"

Harry stared at him for several moments, curiously examining the now well built features of his cousin. The face that had once contorted with the glee of his father humiliating Harry was strangely friendly, his eyes were soft and not narrowed with dislike.

"Why?" Harry finally managed to ask.

Dudley looked back at him, confused. "Why...what?" he asked.

"Why are you doing this? Talking to me, I mean."

Dudley shrugged and looked at the floor, his shoulders drooping. "You…you saved my life, didn't you. I 'spect my dad thinks you sent those invisible things on me, but I know you didn't. I saw that silver thing you sent towards me."

Harry's mouth dropped open and he was completely and utterly lost for words. Was Dudley, in his own way, thanking him for saving his life? He stared at him for another moment or two until Dudley finally stood up straight and nodded at him.

"Well, goodbye, then," he said, his voice so low and so quiet Harry wouldn't have heard him unless he'd been looking at him.

"Goodbye…" Harry called back.


	3. Celostium

"Well? What do you think?" asked Sirius, seconds after he'd opened the door to what was to be Harry's new bedroom. Harry walked in and took a look around.

"Wow, Sirius," he said, dazed by the brilliant sunlight streaming through the open window, "it's perfect!" It took him several moments to completely gaze over the whole room, not because it was so large, but because of everything that was already in it. In one corner, Hedwig's cage hung from a beautiful piece of furniture that looked as though it was designed specifically for the purpose of an owl's cage. Hedwig was not in there, but the window was open and Harry expected she was stretching her wings.

Next to the owl stand was a dresser with several photographs Harry had not seen before. He strode over to it to examine each a bit more carefully. The one in the center was a his parent's wedding picture, his father was clad in a long, black dress robes and his mother in a simple but beautiful white dress, her long red hair topped with a soft lace veil hanging back behind her head. They appeared to be dancing and, as Harry came to realize it, was the youngest photograph he'd yet seen of them. They couldn't be more than a couple years out of Hogwarts.

"You can't imagine all the stuff I found in my old room at Grimauld Place," said Sirius, who had joined Harry looking at the photographs. "Look there, can't believe I still have this one." He pointed at one of two messy haired teenagers grinning and waving up at them. James was in scarlet Quidditch robes and had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a boy with slightly longer hair who, upon closer inspection, Harry deemed to be Sirius.

"It's really weird to think of my parents as teenagers…" said Harry, now looking at the rest of the photographs, "when I didn't even know them as adults. They're more like…phantoms of who they were to you and Dumbledore and Lupin."

Sirius took a deep breath and let it out through a small hole in his mouth. "I know what you mean. After sorting through all of the junk I took from my childhood home it suddenly occurred to me all the things James and I never talked about." He looked away from the photos and looked back at the room at large. "I missed your first birthday, you know. Dumbledore had a special assignment for me that took a bit longer than I expected, and I didn't know that within a couple days time I would miss another twelve of your birthdays!" He grinned. "Not another one shall go amiss, however. We are going to have a celebration bash for your sixteenth! And you don't even want to know what I've got planned for your seventeenth."

Harry felt his cheeks flush. "Sirius, I don't need a party—"

Sirius shook his head. "Believe me, you do need a party. Besides, what's the use of having your own house if you can't throw a birthday party for your own godson. It would be a crime, your father would have my head." He grinned broadly and reached up to wipe a hair out of Harry's eyes, revealing the scar as he did. Harry watched his eyes linger on it, something he recognized as sadness crossed in front of the brown, and his eyebrows sank. Then his hand had retracted. "Well, I should leave you to your unpacking. I know how difficult it is to do that when someone is reminiscing the whole time. I'm doing some work outside with Kreacher and I expect he will be wondering where I've cantered off to."

"Kreacher?" Harry asked, slightly disgusted. "You mean you kept—" but his mouth snapped shut when Sirius flicked his wand. He looked into his godfather's face with defiance and confusion, giving him a look that said, "What was that for?" since he was unable to speak.

"You won't believe it until you see it," Sirius said in a whisper, glancing at the door to Harry's bedroom. "For now, don't say anything about Kreacher and, when you're ready for lunch, I will show you why." A grin flickered across his face and Harry's jaw was released of the silencing charm.

Harry rubbed his jaw. "Was that necessary? You could have just covered my mouth!"

Sirius chuckled. "Where there's a wand, there's a way, you know. Or, as my mother loved to say, 'Don't cover what you can charm.'" He strode back towards the door and turned just before he left. "Lunch will be ready whenever you are. Feel free to look around the rest of the house, it is ours, after all." And he disappeared from sight, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.

Harry grinned at where Sirius had vanished, feeling an overwhelming sensation of affection and pride swell inside him. This room had brought more excitement to his throat than he could ever remember feeling at one time, and the prospect that Sirius had taken the time to buy, or find, him furnishings for his room was equally as breath-taking.

The bed stood tall and magnificent in the corner, large and so comfortable looking Harry could have laid down in it and fallen asleep immediately. He noticed something on it that clearly wasn't part of the bed and walked over to it, noticing, as he did, the odd piece of carpeting that had been in his room at Grimauld Place covering a section of the wooden floor. It was clean now, and, to his own amusement, a much different color than it had been.

Upon the bed was a t-shirt, bright green, folded with a note lying on top of it. Harry picked up the note, which read, 'Figured you might like this.' Unfolding the t-shirt, Harry saw that it was a faded, but still in very good condition, and read, in sparkling silver, IRISH NATIONAL across the chest. He grinned, his chest swelling with affection again.

His trunk, the one Dumbledore had sent ahead of them straight from the Granger's, lay beside it, unopened. Harry unlocked it and swung it open, feeling it was as good time as ever to begin unpacking.

Shockingly, it took him over an hour to take everything out of his trunk, then another hour to throw it either into a pile of rubbish or put it in drawers or the closet which had been hidden by a full length mirror that squawked if you didn't stop to look at it for a second. It had kept squawking as Harry walked by it, hardly noticing its presence, as he went to open drawers or display photographs alongside the one's Sirius had given him, that he finally stopped and looked at it.

To his utter surprise, the mirror coughed and spoke. "It's about time," it said, with the voice of an elderly woman, who sort of reminded him of the frantic Mrs. Figg, his cat-loving squib neighbor on Privet Drive. "Don't you have anything to hang, boy?"

Harry, bewildered, could only splutter, "What? Huh?"

Then the mirror swung open and a closet materialized behind it, having enough room to fit a small troll. _Does he really think I have this many clothes?_ Harry thought, amused. He stepped inside of it, fascinated that it could hold him, when something caught his eye he would never have seen unless he had, in fact, stepped into it.

At eye level on one of the side walls, closest to the bedroom door, but way beyond the mirror, was a single word in sparkling gold. It read Celostium. He looked at it curiously and approached it. He didn't recognize the word. The sparkling gold was fascinating, though, and he reached up to touch it.

The moment his fingers grazed in embossed word, there was a soft hiss, like air being let out of a tightly sealed box, and part of the wall disappeared, leaving a man sized archway where the word Celostium had been only seconds ago. Harry gulped, then took a deep breath, trying to expel the sudden fear that had just raged through his blood, boiling it uncomfortably and sending massive signals to his heart to beat much faster than was necessary. He stuck his head through the archway and peered inside, it was pitch black. He pulled his head out and, to his astonishment, a torch ignited to his left right past the archway into what appeared to be a passageway.

Without thinking, he grabbed the torch and stepped precariously through the doorway, which, to his great relief, did not seal shut in his wake. He held the torch aloft and peered ahead of him. The passage was only a couple feet in length before it descended a flight of stairs. The initial startled reaction he'd had to the appearance of the archway disappeared and he eagerly hurried down the steps, examining the blank wooden walls as he did so, wondering where in the world this could lead, and then, briefly, if Sirius had known about this or if he'd put it here on purpose.

At the bottom of the steps, there was another strip of flat ground before another door, similar to the one he'd just come through at the top of the stairs. He reached for the handle, and it seemed to open with the slightest touch. He grinned as he walked through the doorway and into what was unmistakably the kitchen. The torch disappeared from his hand and the door slammed shut behind him. He shook his head, that was too funny, and a bit anticlimactic. He had been expecting an underground tavern or something extremely sinister to pop out at him, like a troll or a skrewt. But all the time it had just led to the kitchen when he could have walked out his bedroom door and down a flight of steps.

"Clever…very clever," he muttered, looking around at the kitchen. He shook his head, sighed, and walked out of the room towards the staircase where he bounded up a flight of stairs and back into his room. He looked around, everything was as he had left it. Somehow, for some reason, he had expected it to be different, or torn apart or something. A prank of the door's seemingly unnecessary existence.

He peeked back inside the closet and saw that the archway had resealed itself. He chuckled, shrugged, and went back to his trunk to finish unpacking.

He had reached the bottom of the trunk, where his oldest dress robes were flattened so greatly they looked to be a part of the bottom of the trunk. He smiled at them, remembering getting fitted for them while Hagrid had a drink at the Leaky Cauldron after the ride through the Gringotts vaults. He had first met Malfoy there and had nearly disliked him as much as he did now.

"Poor bloke," Harry chuckled aloud. _Got what he deserved, didn't he?_ He pulled out the robes and tossed them on his rubbish pile. Beneath the robes was a piece of linen that was not attached to the trunk itself, but sewn into one of the sides and was useful for keeping small things from getting lost inside.

He stole a glance at the door, then stuck his hand inside, removing the small pile of letters he'd hidden thus far over the summer. One was from Ron, the only he'd sent all summer as he had been so busy in Romania. Two were from Hagrid, announcing all of the new creatures he wanted to introduce to the sixth years, though Harry was sure that very few people would continue with Care of Magical Creatures, himself not included. And the rest, which amounted to about five or six, were from Ginny. He sat on his bed and leaned against the pillows, shuffling through the letters to his favorite. He had written to her before he left Privet Drive, telling her that if she needed anything or anyone to talk to, he would love to be there for her, mainly because he felt somewhat guilty for the death of her mother. But he also felt that now her mother was gone, she probably didn't feel very connected to anything and, with Ron gone for the summer, needed an extra person to talk to. Innocent and everything, but he still felt as though he needed to hide them from Hermione, which made his stomach turn over.

He unfolded the letter and read it over for what had to be the tenth time.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for your last letter. You really did explain that well, probably because you've had a good five years to mull it over after truly understanding what happened to your parents. I can't say that it lifts much off my shoulders, but it has helped me to broaden my perspective, and in time it will help with the healing process._

_Dad is getting pretty good at cooking. It's amusing to watch him try to read through mum's old notes in between the lines of every cookbook as he absently flicks his wand about, sending dirty socks or silverware into the brewing pot. With Bill and Fleur's help, however, he's gotten much better. Did Ron tell you that Bill proposed to Fleur last Friday? I don't suppose. He has only written home twice seeing as how he and Charlie are so busy. Yes, well, the wedding is planned for next summer. Gabrielle and I are to be bridesmaids, Fleur is simply ecstatic about it, so much so she speaks in French much more than in English. I have gotten to know her pretty well over the last couple weeks and even though I still think she's incredibly lofty and self-centered, her heart is in the right place and truly seems to love Bill._

_In other news, I heard a rumor around here, when the older people thought I was asleep, that a man named Horace Slughorn is to take over Potions for Nearly-Headless Nick next year (what a deal that was though, a ghost trying to teach Potions? History of Magic is one thing, Professor Bins just drones on and on, but with Potions you've got to use most of your senses and the only one Nick has is sight!). Slughorn is, apparently, very interested in you. Then again, who isn't right now, eh? Too bad about the Prophet, I can't imagine how dreary that gets. Well, most of the questions I have forming in my head would be better talked about in person, so perhaps I will leave them for when I see you again._

_Don't hesitate to write back! Tell Hermione hello from me._

_With Love, From Ginny_

He folded the letter again and stuffed it back into its envelope, but did not move from the bed. Horace Slughorn? The name didn't sound familiar. Ginny was right about Sir Nicholas, however, that was quite a treat to have him teaching a Potions class. For the majority of the time he taught, he mainly instructed on theory, something Hermione was so very fond of, and then told the class to brew the potion he had selected for the day. Harry had to admit that it was better than Snape growling and mumbling around the class, giving out zeroes to students that needed help instead of offering assistance in the form of instruction. Pathetic, is what it had been. Snape had expected everyone to just know what to do and know how exactly each potion would turn out. Nick, though being unable to tell if the cauldron rank of an overdose of a specific ingredient, was at least capable of answering questions

Tearing his mind back to the present and the process of unpacking, he glanced around at the progress he'd made. Clothes now hung in his closet or folded in drawers, the small robes he'd grown out of lay in a heaping pile in the center of the room. All his school books were on the shelf above his dresser, and the small seemingly insignificant artifacts he'd acquired over the last five years were either in the topmost drawer of his dresser or on the shelf in his closet.

Then he realized he still had Ginny's letters in his hand and looked around again. If only there was a loose floorboard like in his room at the Dursley's. He sighed, leaned over, and opened the small drawer in the little bedside cabinet, deciding that would be good enough for now.

He hopped off the bed and shoved his trunk in the spacious area between the bed and the floor, out of sight. Clasping his hands together, he looked once more around, then decided this was as good time as any to have lunch. His stomach growled, as if on queue. Snickering to himself, he chose the door to his bedroom to make his way down the kitchen instead of the strange one inside his closet. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't even looked back at the wall from which he emerged in the kitchen after the torch had disappeared from his hand. He would have to look at it once he got down there.

Halfway down the steps, Harry could hear Sirius' voice barking with laughter, and then speaking to another. His voice was coming from the kitchen.

"Done packing already?" asked Sirius, looking up from a copy of the Daily Prophet, once again featuring Harry's face on the cover. "I might have thought you'd need a day, or maybe two, with all the stuff you've got." A mocking snicker enveloped his face as Harry sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Ha. Ha." Harry said, blearily, glancing around towards the wall he thought he had come out of only a half hour ago. The wall, however, appeared to be covered in pots and pans hanging vertically. He scrunched up his face looking at it, trying to decipher where the door lines were, how the strange archway had formed in order to let him out.

"What's wrong?" asked Sirius, who had been watching Harry curiously as he examined the wall with pots and pans.

Harry blinked and looked away, towards Sirius. "What? Nothing, just…thought I saw something…" his voice trailed off.

Sirius had opened his mouth, but was saved from asking another question by the appearance of two platters seeming to float towards them from the stove. Harry looked closer and saw the little house elf, Kreacher, supporting them with his hands, his little feet bustling furiously.

"Master Sirius, would you like your meal now, sir?" Kreacher asked from beneath the platters.

"Yes, Kreacher, that would be wonderful," Sirius said, rubbing his hands together. "You do remember my godson, Harry Potter?"

Kreacher set both trays down in front of each man and then struck a low bow in Harry's direction. "Of course Kreacher remembers Harry Potter. It is an honor and a privilege to serve the boy who survived the treacherous grasp of he who must not be named," said Kreacher, his long nose pressed against the ground, but his eyes drifting upwards to catch Harry's appeal.

Completely perplexed, Harry looked at Sirius for an explanation, but Sirius shook his head ever so slightly, hinting that Harry was to go along with it. "This…smells absolutely delicious, Kreacher. Thank you so much," he tried to smile kindly down at the elf, which came out more as a pleased grimace. But Kreacher hadn't seen because the moment Harry complimented him, he had buried his face in his hands and bowed out of the room. Wide eyed, Harry looked at Sirius once again to find that Sirius was chuckling.

"Shocking, isn't it?" said Sirius through a mouthful of corn beef stew. "Who knew what a little kindness and some complimenting here and there could do." He thought for a moment, his eyes drifting out of focus. "Dumbledore was right all along, imagine that."

"I don't get it," said Harry, not immediately digging into his own platter of food. "You just started being nice to him and he…became…"

"Civilized? Bearable?" said Sirius, chuckling again. "Yes, pretty much as simple as that. It took nearly a week for the full transformation, and for Dumbledore to convince me that getting Kreacher on my side would be beneficial. I still wouldn't be able to recount exactly what it was that did it, though. All I can say is that it hasn't been half as lonely around here with a pleasant house elf than it was at Grimauld Place. I left that house with a completely new elf. Or, old new elf, really. Who knows how old Kreacher really is." He stuffed his mouth with another spoonful of stew.

Harry finally picked up his own spoon and tasted the food in front of him. It was delicious! Better than anything he'd tasted while at Grimauld Place, other than when Mrs. Weasley did the cooking. His mind suddenly went far away from the kitchen with Sirius and into a world that wasn't exactly concrete, but was full of an emotion he attributed with loss. The same world he went into while thinking about the life he could have had with his own parents, however dim it sounded. Never again would he receive a batch of Mrs. Weasley's treacle tart for Christmas. Never again would her loving arms embrace him like he was a son of her own.

"So, when is Ron getting back from Romania?" Sirius asked, pulling Harry out of his other worldly thought.

"Dunno," said Harry, taking another bite of stew. "He was supposed to be back this week, but they were backed up and had to keep him on another couple days. I reckon he'd be back within a week."

"Well, I've got rooms ready for both him and Hermione when they're ready to come," said Sirius. "Got plenty of room around here." He put down his spoon and gazed curiously at Harry, as though something had just occurred to him. "How was your time at Hermione's?" he asked, his tone sounding as casual as he could make it.

Harry shrugged, unconcernedly. "It was alright. We fought a lot at the beginning."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "At the beginning?" he sounded intrigued, though his face remained impassive, his thick eyebrows spread wide. The tip of his mustache flickered ever so slightly from his breath.

"I…haven't been too fond of the Prophet's favorite headlines," Harry admitted, realizing then how foolish it sounded, "and she just wanted me to forget about it and not let it bother me…"

Sirius nodded, understandingly. "But of course, that is quite impossible?"

Harry shrugged again. "Not impossible, just not likely. But for the last week I have been using occlumency to help keep my temper in check. We didn't fight as much." He felt his neck go red, unsure as to why he revealed this to his godfather.

"Occlumency?" Sirius asked, his tone changing completely to one of mere amusement, with the slightest trace of trepidation. "You chose to employ a skill to expel someone from your head against your girlfriend?"

Now Harry's whole face went red and he was forced to drink a bit of water before answering. The hot stew did nothing to quell the color rising from his every pore.

"It's not like I thought she was going to use legilimency on me," said Harry defensively. "I just remember it being useful to control my emotions, when it was working before I mean, during the school year."

Sirius sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "Does that mean that your scar hasn't been hurting as well?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "Even before I started using occlumency it wasn't hurting," he thought for a moment. "You know, since the time Voldemort regained his body, hardly a day has gone by that it hasn't prickled, if not bloody split my head open, except for when I was consciously using occlumency."

"And are you consciously using it now?" asked Sirius, his voice slow and inquisitive, his dark brown eyes narrowing in concentration.

"No," said Harry, looking him right back in the eyes, "it's become…second nature, I guess."

"How so?"

Harry sighed. "Well, it's like the book said, isn't it?" With a twinge of awareness that he was going to sound so much like Hermione it might have nearly struck her dumb, he quoted the line he had remembered so vividly from the dreadful occlumency book Snape had given him the previous year. "_The act of deploying these aspects of occlumency is only a matter of simple concentration after one realizes the potential such an act can achieve. By properly conducting modes of awareness, one will learn that it is unnecessary to think about using them when one realizes that one already uses them, but without the purpose of deflecting unwanted entry into one's own mind._"

Sirius blinked, then stared, then blinked again. All at once, he burst into laughter, the deep vibrations of his voice sending a strange sensation through Harry's body and caused him to smile, reluctantly, at what had to be a very uncharacteristic act on his part.

Sirius had to wipe his eyes, for tears had formed from the force of his laughter. He was still grinning broadly when he had finally come around and looked back at Harry. "That was something Hermione would have said," Sirius said, choking back more laughter.

Harry grinned back. "That's what I get for knowing her for five years. Something about her had to rub off on me, eh?"


	4. Reality Check

AN: Alright, I think I know when I'm defeated. If no one is interested in this that's okay, but if I don't get any reviews I'll just stop posting. I just need a little something to tell me that anyone is reading this, otherwise I don't know what ya'll are thinking. Review if you are reading, and review some more just to make me happy. Hell, tell me it sucks and I should never write again, just say something. Otherwise, this will be the last installment.

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About a week later Harry received an owl from Ron. He and Sirius had just finished a most delicious meal of steak and eggs, served by the ever-astounding Kreacher, when something high above them fluttered in, squeaking and parroting noisily.

Harry's eyes shot upward in alarm as he saw the small silhouette of Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, sail through a small hole in the wall so near the ceiling he hadn't noticed it before. It was dark outside, and through the hole Harry could see stars beginning to appear in the hazy purple sky.

"Pig!" Harry shouted, jumping from his seat to catch the extremely tired bird. The owl hooted softly as it landed in his hands with a dull whump, slightly uncharacteristic to its size. "Oh please tell me Ron is back!" Harry muttered, setting Pig on the kitchen table and removing the letter from its small foot. Before he opened it, though, he fed the tiny owl a small piece of steak and the bird nibbled on it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I am finally home! I got back yesterday night, Charlie brought me back so he could stay a couple nights with dad before returning to Romania. But dad has been so busy at the ministry he's been home a total of four hours since we've arrived, and since things aren't letting up any time soon, Charlie decided to go back and return for your birthday party instead. Bill and Fleur are spending most of their time at the ministry as well. Bill got a position as a Gringotts representative in the Department of International Cooperation alongside Percy. _

_I have got so much to tell you, and show you! Dad says I can come tomorrow morning if that is alright with Sirius. He can't be home much and feels horrible, especially since he's had to leave Ginny home alone so much, and reckons I am better off with you at your new place._

_Let me know as soon as possible if tomorrow morning works for you. I know its late, but I'm sure Hedwig won't mind. Pigwidgeon is so pathetic, I probably wouldn't bother giving him another job._

_Ron_

"Tomorrow morning!" Harry said, grinning broadly and looking up at Sirius. "Can he come tomorrow morning?"

Sirius grinned back. "Of course he can. I thought that might happen, Arthur has been so tied up at the ministry lately. He sent Ginny to me for a couple days, even. Helped me unpack the kitchen things. Well, wonderful. How will he be getting here?"

Harry thought for a moment. "He didn't say. How can he get here? Broom?"

Sirius shook his head. "Better be the Floo Network. That's how Ginny came. Easy and painless. Tell him the name of the house is number nineteen Habeon Drive."

"Excellent!" energy surged through Harry's body. Energy that certainly had not been there two minutes ago but that overtook him completely nonetheless. He removed Pigwidgeon from the kitchen table and headed for the stairs, casting a furtive glance at the pots and pans, where he was sure a trap door lay hidden beneath its décor. "I'll be back in a minute, I'm going to write him back."

"I'll wait here," Sirius shouted back, sarcastically. "Don't worry about me."

A thought suddenly struck Harry as he reached the second step going up the stairs and he turned back. Sirius had just stood up and was about to open the refrigerator.

"Have we…" Harry began, trying to keep his tone even and uncaring, "have we got enough room for Ginny? Only Ron says that she's been left alone, quite a bit. It might be nice for her to have some company."

Sirius didn't even look at him, but opened the refrigerator door, rummaging around for something. "Yes, yes of course. She and Hermione can have the bedroom with two beds, then, when Hermione comes. She stayed in that room last time she was here. Good idea, Harry." He pulled out a small bottle and corked it open, taking a deep swig and letting out a sound of deep satisfaction. "Ah, Rosmerta always caught my heart, even as a young lad."

Harry chuckled as his heart leapt, for reasons unknown to him, and bounded up the steps, letting the door to his room fly open. He released Pig and the owl flew over to Hedwig, who had squawked loudly upon Harry's entrance.

"Wakey, wakey, Hedwig! I've got a job for you! Just a moment, though," said Harry, racing to the desk under one of the windows and beside Hedwig's cage. He pulled out a piece of parchment, then rummaged around looking for a quill.

_Dear Ron,_

_Yes, of course you can come tomorrow! Sirius reckons you'd better come by Floo Powder. I think Ginny knows how to get here, but in case she doesn't, the name is number nineteen Habeon Drive. Ginny is welcome to come as well, we've got a space for her. See you in the morning!_

_Harry_

He hastily folded the letter and stuck it into an envelope, writing _Ron_ across the front center. Instinctively, Hedwig flew from her perch and landed on Harry's shoulder, allowing him to tie the letter to her talon. She hooted anxiously, not having had much to do yet over the summer, besides a trip or two to Sirius, and, now that he thought about it, one very long trip to Ron.

"Now, Hedwig, I know you're good, but Ron needs to get this before he goes to bed!" Harry said, the tension in his voice causing it to shake slightly. "Think you can do that? I'll have Kreacher whip you up some extra bacon when you get back!"

Hedwig hooted again and soared through the open window, clearly understanding Harry's urgency in a way he doubted any muggle postman would. He smiled gleefully after her.

Having spent the better part of June with Hermione, it hadn't occurred to him how much he had, in fact, missed Ron. He was so pleased that Ron had taken the job, mostly because he wanted him distracted from the reality of his mother's death, but also because opportunities don't arise like that very often. He knew Ron really liked his brother Charlie, and Charlie living so far away, did not get to see much of him. But now that he was back, he could say without shame that he'd missed Ron more than he missed Hermione, and that was saying something.

Before he rushed back downstairs to the kitchen, Harry looked fondly around his room, at all the work Sirius had put into making it a home for him. He couldn't believe how well everything was working out; it was like living someone else's life, but with all the benefits of his own. He couldn't remember ever having slept better than his first night in his new bed, which felt like diving into a hundred pillows. The Granger's guest room had been extremely comfortable and always smelt of the agapanthus Mrs. Granger snipped from her garden, but this was his room, his own room.

He grinned and shot back out the door, leaping down the steps and landing with a loud thud at the bottom, cringing slightly as a dull pain shot through his shins. He smirked and looked up, momentarily startled by the appearance of another man sitting with Sirius.

"Harry!" Lupin stood and walked over to Harry, grasping his hand and grinning broadly. "How are you?"

"Lupin!" said, another smile spreading across his face. "I'm fine, thanks. You?"

Lupin let go of his hand and led him back to the table. Sirius had stood and was rummaging through the refrigerator again, pulling out a bottle of butterbeer for Harry. Lupin looked happier than Harry had seen him in a long while, though that did nothing to hide his graying hair or the large bags under his eyes. His clothes did, on the other hand, look somewhat better groomed than usual and a vivid memory sprang to Harry's mind: the moment after Neville had killed Bellatrix and Tonks kissed him. He wondered, or perhaps hoped, if Tonks had anything to do with his relatively neater attire.

"I am excellent, thank you Harry," Lupin beamed. He sat back down, summoning a chair from the other room for Harry. Harry sat and accepted the butterbeer from Sirius, who was looking at Lupin with what seemed to be amusement. "I just spoke with Dumbledore this morning and he told me he brought you here only last week. I figured I must come see how you were settling in!" He smiled jovially and took a sip of the mead he clutched in a goblet.

"You just came while I was upstairs?" asked Harry, watching him. "I was barely up there for five minutes."

Lupin shrugged. "Guess it was the wrong five minutes," he said. "I didn't want to intrude on your supper unannounced. In any case, Dumbledore said you'd been at Hermione's all of June." He raised an eyebrow at Harry and looked at him questioningly, though Harry couldn't quite understand why.

"Yes, that's right," said Harry, taking a sip of his butterbeer to cover the slightly awkward moment. "Ron went to Romania for a month with Charlie and…well…she is my girlfriend."

"Yes, I am quite aware," said Lupin, casting a look at Sirius. "So, did the two of you…enjoy yourselves?"

Lupin was grinning almost manically, and Sirius was doing nothing to offer Harry any help, but stared with deep interest, his gaze shifting back and forth from Harry to Lupin. Harry had a shrewd idea of what Lupin might be hinting at, but since he had no desire to talk about it, he veered away from those dangerous waters.

"It was alright," said Harry, mumbling into another sip of butterbeer.

"Life away from school with a girlfriend proved to be a bit different than he expected, I think," said Sirius, grinning slyly at Harry. "He doesn't think she understands him."

Lupin raised a glass in a knowing way, but Harry glared at Sirius. What did he have to tell Lupin that for?

"Ah, I don't think any man ever thinks—" Lupin began, but was cut off.

"It's not that I think she doesn't understand me," said Harry hotly, looking away from Sirius to Lupin, now feeling as though he had to defend himself. "It's just with everything going on, with Voldemort killing left and right and not being able to do anything about it, it gets a bit wearing. You know…"

Lupin's gaze softened and he looked at Harry sympathetically, seeming to catch on. "It is a very tragic business," said Lupin gravely. "I don't imagine any of us can really understand the pressure the wider wizarding world has put on you, Harry, but we are here to help make the process a bit easier." He looked at Sirius with a glance that made Harry think they were sharing a thought.

"We can hardly ignore it anymore," Sirius said, heaving a sigh and sitting forward in his chair, clutching both hands around his mead. "I insisted to Dumbledore that I be the one to tell and, since Lupin mentioned he would also like to be present, perhaps now is as good a time as any." Both men were staring at Harry, their eyes focused and narrowed, but not in suspicion. More, in concentration, maybe even apprehension.

"Hermione obviously can't understand fully what the prophecy means, even though she heard it as plainly as any of us," said Lupin, "but I can only assume that is because you haven't told her the whole story." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Lupin held up his hand. "I am not accusing you of anything, Harry, not of being a bad boyfriend, or even a bad friend, but of explaining it from someone else's point of view. Someone who can see both sides of the issue."

"We were in Dumbledore's office, Harry, we heard it explained just as you heard it. In some respects we may even have a deeper and graver understanding of the trials you face ahead simply because of our experience with magic and the fact you are not finished with your magical education," said Sirius.

"That isn't my fault!" said Harry defiantly.

"Of course it isn't!" said Sirius, his voice rising alongside Harry's. "But that's exactly the point, isn't it? If you keep resisting help you are going to miss the important pieces of information that other people have to offer, the different perspectives of your own situation."

"That doesn't necessarily mean everyone with have something meaningful," said Lupin, "because it is up to you to decide what is and what is not important, but to take in everything, soak it all in, as though it is your last breath."

Harry scrunched up his nose, feeling something buzz inside his head. "I don't think I understand," he said, slowly.

"That is why we are here," said Sirius, nodding at Lupin, his rather short, black hair flickering like the flame on a candle. "Dumbledore told you that this year was going to be all about learning how to bring Voldemort down. He, honestly, hasn't told us much, but we suspect that is because he doesn't want to give us any more information than he would give you and would rather tell us all at once."

"Dumbledore will be giving you private lessons this year, Harry," said Lupin, his lips barely parting as though uttering a secret in a crowded room, "and we will be there to help."

Harry stared blankly, perplexed. "What kind…of lessons?" he asked, looking from Lupin to Sirius, trying to read their boyish excitement. Their eyes were piercing him with a hunger that he'd never seen in either of them before. At the same time it scared him, and elevated his heart rate, making him anticipate their answer without knowing in the slightest what was to come.

"You led your schoolmates into battle at the beginning of June," said Sirius, his voice hushed but his speech fast. "You knew what was to come, you anticipated Voldemort's movements. But now his movements are known to everyone! He is on the prowl trying to build up his army, since his forces were severely disabled, and immobilize as many of his most powerful enemies before attempting to fulfill the prophecy for a fourth time."

"His first was thwarted by your mother, obviously," said Lupin, his voice hushed as Sirius' had been, clearly dripping with the same adventurous hunger, "his second by your daring, standing up to him in the graveyard of Little Hangleton where the bones of his father lay. And third by Dumbledore just mere weeks ago."

Harry felt a sudden rush of information overload. Their words were coming at him so quickly, he felt he barely had time to comprehend them, but he listened with rapt attention, drinking in each man with the same thirst for information as they were hungry to pursue it then. It hardly occurred to them why they were so willing to divulge all this when last year he had to pry and twist their arms to know the very slightest about what the Order was up to.

"These lessons are as much a mystery to us as they are to you, Harry," continued Lupin, "but Dumbledore wants you to know why he's giving you the lessons…"

"And we wanted to tell you," Sirius finished, nodding with a finality at Lupin, who also gave him a nod. "So, for now, this is all you get, because we don't have proper time to go into much detail. But you will know, in short time, what we know."

Lupin glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Yes, my visit was brief, because I was dying to see your new place, but I must be off to meet Dora."

Harry smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Dora, eh?" Lupin grinned boyishly. "Spend much time at her house this summer, Lupin? Enjoy yourself, did you?"

"Very funny," said Lupin, draining the last of his mead and getting to his feet. "I reckon much of your father lives in you without your knowledge. Though I don't know what he would say about his fifteen year old son spending a month at his girlfriend's house with, excuse me, limited supervision."

Harry got to his feet, putting on a determined insolent glare. "I will be sixteen next week!" Lupin was grinning, even so. "She was at Grimmauld Place for Christmas last year, why didn't anyone yell at me then?" Lupin and Sirius exchanged exasperated looks, but Lupin finally shrugged.

"We are only saying," said Sirius, looking a bit more seriously than Lupin, "we don't want you moving too fast at such a young age. You've got the rest of you life to…make similar decisions." Harry crossed his arms and frowned.

Lupin coughed. "Well, Harry, it's not like we don't trust you to make good decisions. You are a remarkable young man with prodigious skill and potential and we don't want that to suffer from heartbreak! It happens to the best of men, but it can also bring the strongest men to their knees." Harry wasn't exactly sure what that meant, then wondered if it was bad that he didn't understand, if it meant he was missing something really important.

"No worries, now," Lupin went on, waving his hand in front of him as though swatting a fly. "I must be going. See you both next week." He winked at Harry, nodded at Sirius, and showed himself out of the kitchen. Moments later, they heard the front door shut and a lock click in place.

It was a moment before Harry realized he was still standing, and quickly returned to his seat, feeling a bit foolish. But his head was racing with terrified wonder and excitement. He looked at Sirius.

"Do you think I made a bad decision by staying at Hermione's?" asked Harry, seriously. He tried to read Sirius' face, but the man's eyes only glinted in the dim light of candles surrounding the kitchen.

Sirius took another sip of mead before answering, and when he did, he did so slowly. "I think that you weren't, forgive me, really thinking," he said. "Don't misunderstand me, there isn't anything wrong with wanting to spend time with your girlfriend or even staying with her and her parents for a short amount of time, but you were there for the best part of a month."

"So?" said Harry, slightly confused. Why did it matter the length of time he spent at Hermione's?

Again, Sirius stared at him with a look Harry could not interpret. His eyes were steady and narrowed, as though soaking in Harry all at once. "I know you haven't had someone to give you advice or warnings as consistently as a parent," said Sirius, his look changing from one Harry could not read to one of sheepish embarrassment, "and that might begin to put a strain on our relationship. For the last two years I have been a reckless friend who happens to have been appointed your godfather, but I trust you can understand the relationship I had with your father, for it is not unlike the one you have with Ron, perhaps even deeper since I knew your father for so long."

"What's your point?" asked Harry anxiously, not seeing what this had to do with anything.

"Harry, being your godfather, now endowed with the much anticipated responsibility of having you under my roof, I find it necessary to bestow both warnings and advice upon you," said Sirius, speaking fast, "for I know James would be very disappointed if I didn't raise you as if you were my own son! However, you turn sixteen in a week and I've completely missed your childhood, you've developed into your own person, a person free of reporting to a higher authority. Or at least one whom you respect."

Harry thought of Uncle Vernon and tried to conceal a smirk. But he finally knew where Sirius was going. Sirius was nervous that once he broke the ice that had solidified between he and Harry, clearly defining them as equals and friends rather than adult and child, he would lose Harry's friendship.

"Sirius, I know you would never tell me something just to get a rise out of me," said Harry, quietly, "I know that you would instruct me as my father would have. I want that, I have always wanted that. I have always needed someone like a father."

For a moment, Harry thought Sirius might tear up for his eyes reflected watery in the candlelight, but Sirius smiled contentedly and nodded, seeming to come to himself again. "Thank you, Harry, that means a lot. And I do wish to forewarn you that what I am about to say is purely because I care—"

"I know, I know!" said Harry, exasperated. "Get on with it already."

"Harry," said Sirius, "you and Hermione have been friends for a long time, I know that, and you've been dating for several months, I know that too. But when you spent so much time together that you had to begin employing occlumency to get through it, that worries me, and not just because it is typically useful against spell casting, but because it causes you to practically drain yourself of normal human emotion and replace it with something artificial, something absent of how we were made to work as humans." He paused. "Do you understand?"

Harry was looking at him, bemused, his nose scrunched up as though he smelled something particularly foul. "I'm not sure," he said, slowly. "Do you mean that I was better just leaving when we were fighting?"

Sirius shook his head. "Of course not," he said quickly. "It is never a good idea to just walk away from a fight, especially with a girl." He gave Harry a small smirk, then spiraled on. "There is a line between friends and more than friends, as I'm sure you know, one that can be broken or surpassed effectively if the relationship is right. All I am wondering is, are you fighting with Hermione because you are in love with her, or because she is so much your friend that once she became your girlfriend, all that changed was that you snog instead of chat?"

Sirius' comment had come so abruptly that Harry felt his face grow red hot. He spluttered for a couple moments before he could gather his mind to form a comprehensible sentence. "I love Hermione!" he said, defiantly. "We were fighting because of the stupid Daily Prophet, not because we're friends!"

Sirius looked alarmed, which caused Harry to calm down, but only just. "Harry, I would never dare suggest that you didn't _love_ Hermione!" His eyes were wide and he sat back in his chair. "I am only asking if you are _in_ love with her. Because, in the end, that is what makes the difference between a summer of healthy fighting, or a summer leading on a girl that you can't honestly and whole-heartedly love."

Harry stared at him. His mind went blank and he blinked a couple times. Honestly and whole-heartedly love? As in true love, Harry supposed, that kind of love that removes everything else from your mind.

And at that moment, without wishing it or boding it on, a vivid picture came to mind of a girl who was definitely not Hermione. A cold and gnawing pain arose in Harry's stomach, one that took over his entire body. He felt himself break out in a cold sweat and knew that he had to find a bathroom before he let out his dinner back onto the table.HerH


	5. Arrivals

AN: Hey people. Special thanks to you few who have read this and commented and/or messaged me. I've been uber busy the past couple months. I am hoping to write a bit more frequently now. SPECIAL NOTE: For those of you H/Hr shippers who've mentioned your disappointment in the lack of spark between Harry and Hermione in this fic, I want to state, for the record that 1) how enjoyable would a story be without a little conflict? and 2) don't give up hope yet. I have interesting plans with this story, if anyone keeps reading. The more reviews/messages I get, the more likely I will update. Only because otherwise I don't know if anyone is reading.

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The fireplace was cold, but Harry paced anxiously in front of it anyway as though it possessed warmth. Every few seconds he would stop and stare at the enormous hearth, the remains of a couple nights' ash littering the bottom, but otherwise empty, then would continue walking. Sirius had been reading the paper in one of the largest armchairs, the one he preferred the most, but could not stand Harry's pacing any longer. Already wary from their conversation last night, Sirius had obviously decided that Harry was best left to himself and his restless pacing.

Every small sound, the creak of a floorboard, the clank of kettle, the opening or closing of a door, the whistling of tea made Harry jump and look eagerly at the fire until he comprehended what had just made the sound. The wait was getting to be too long.

He hadn't slept well at all last night, his talk with Sirius had really upset him and he had been sick for the better part of the night. He attempted to conceal this from his godfather, but he had a feeling Sirius was aware, whether or not Harry actually confessed. Sirius had really made him think about the reality of his relationship with Hermione in a way that he had never thought of before, and far beyond disturbing him, it had scared him. He knew now why it might have been a bad idea to spend an entire month at her house, though there was little he could do about it now, and could not stop wondering if Hermione had doubts about their relationship.

Then he wondered if he himself had doubts, or if he only thought he did because he was scared that he might have feelings for someone else. Determinedly, and through the use of occlumency, he had finally managed to rid himself of the horrible feelings running wild through his stomach and fell asleep. But it was almost day break at that point and only two hours later had reawaken to Hedwig soaring in through the window, accompanied by a fresh stream of morning sunlight.

Abandoning sleep altogether, Harry kept his promise to Hedwig and brought her down to the kitchen where he asked Kreacher to whip her up a large pile of bacon. Kreacher fondly took Hedwig, who had refused at first, but Kreacher coaxed her onto his shoulder by describing the bacon in luscious detail, and she eventually obliged. Harry had watched the odd scene, still amazed at the transformation of the house elf, and declined Kreacher's offer to make him breakfast. He did accept a cup of tea, but only cradled it as Hedwig nibbled at her stack of bacon next to him.

Ron's letter had been extremely vague in regards to when they would be arriving. Morning could mean daybreak or right before lunch. But still Harry paced, nearly an hour, before green flames finally appeared in the fireplace.

In a moment's time, Ron had spiraled out of the fireplace, his school trunk in tow, and toppled onto the rug. He straightened up and grinned very broadly, his freckles more pronounced than ever and a couple not quite healed burns across his neck.

"Harry!" he said, rushing forward and wrapping Harry in a very unexpected hug. Harry felt so pleased and so excited to see him that he barely acknowledged this uncharacteristic move and hugged him back. "God it's good to see you."

They turned as another flash of green flame erupted behind Ron and Ginny also came tumbling out of the fireplace. Ron leapt out of the way and she tripped over Ron's trunk, almost sailing into Harry. He caught her around the waist before she hit the ground and stood her up, quickly releasing her the moment she had gained her footing.

She smiled up at him, her brown eyes wide with amusement. He wondered if she noticed how quickly he released her, but decided that she was mostly annoyed by Ron's unhelpfulness.

"Thanks, Ron," she said with a small sneer, turning from Harry to glare at Ron. "You protect dragons for a month and can't even bother to spare a hand for your sister?" Harry laughed and she rounded on him. He shut his mouth, but couldn't help smiling through his pursed lips.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, looking sheepish. He stood up straight, seeming to soak Harry in. "Well, how are you, Harry?"

Harry coughed, sending all his deep seeded thoughts from his mind and deciding to let the arrival of his best friend to distract him. "I'm fine!" he said, only half lying. At the moment he was, indeed, fine. In many ways, he was more than fine. "How are you two?"

"Just great," Ginny said, somewhat sharply. She was rubbing her waist where Harry had caught her, but quickly stopped when she noticed his eyes travel to her hand. She blushed and they looked away, towards Ron, who hadn't noticed anything.

"I thought I heard a commotion in here!" Sirius barked, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of tea, but only two cups. "It's about time, I was sure Harry was going to pace a hole in the floor."

Ginny giggled with glee and ran to hug Sirius, who set the tray on a nearby armchair, and embraced her, patting her back. "Oh, it's so good to see you again," she said as they broke apart. "I do enjoy myself so much more here than at home nowadays."

Sirius laughed. "I don't know whether that is a good thing or not. Things could not be more boring around here."

"That is hard to believe!" said Ron, doubtfully. "Hasn't this place replaced Grimmauld Place as headquarters?"

"It has," said Sirius, "but everyone has been so busy the only one to visit me regularly is Lupin, and he's gone around the twist." Sirius sounded bitter, but amused. "Never thought that man would fall so helplessly for a woman, but, well, there you have it."

Ron snickered and raised his eyebrows at Harry, who smiled back. But there was something else in Ron's look, the beginnings of a blush, he thought, though it never fully formed. Ron looked back at Sirius when Ginny caught his eye and looked at him questioningly, having too seen Ron's look. Harry shrugged.

"Kreacher!" Sirius shouted over his shoulder. Kreacher came skipping through the door, his oil gray tea cloth clinging to his thin legs.

"Yes, Master Sirius," the elf said, bowing low and blinking rapidly. He stood up straight and looked up eagerly at Sirius. Harry watched the dumbfounded expression form on Ron's face as the small elf entered the room, acting completely opposite of their last memory of him, of Kreacher at Grimmauld Place, walking around and muttering to himself all day long. His low mutters were always profane and critical of the kinds of people gathering in his old mistress' house. "Mudbloods and bloodtraitors and werewolves…" he had once said, "gathering in my mistress' house. What would she say? What would she say to old Kreacher?" After such mutterings Sirius would give him the boot and send him flying out of the room.

But Ginny smiled at the elf as he noticed her and, once again, bowed low to her. "Miss Weasley has returned," said Kreacher, smiling with pleasure, "Master Sirius will have someone else to talk to. Oh, Kreacher remembers how happy Miss Weasley made Master Sirius, oh yes. Master Sirius was ever so sad when she left last time." Ginny blushed and Sirius looked irritated.

"Would you fetch two more cups for Ron and Ginny, Kreacher? And take this tray to the dining room, we will meet you in there," said Sirius, diverting the elf.

"Of course, Master Sirius," the elf said, holding the tray high on his little hand. "Kreacher also made some biscuits for lunch and he will bring those out, too. The dining room, the best of all rooms…" the elf's voice faded as he walked back into the kitchen balancing the tray.

"What the bloody hell was that?" asked Ron, looking so perplexed his eyes were beginning to go out of focus.

"Isn't it wonderful?" said Ginny, fondly. "And to think we all once fantasized about what we would like to do that elf." She turned to Sirius. "Did you really like me staying with you?"

Sirius grunted. "What do you think? An old codger like me living alone. Any company lifts my spirits." Ginny smiled broadly, and Sirius returned a half smile, looking somewhat exasperated. "You kids can leave your things here for now. Why don't you wash up and join Harry and I in the dining room? Ginny knows where it is."

"Alright, then," said Ron, heaving a sigh. "Ginny, to the washroom, lets go." Ginny made a funny sound, but led Ron out of the sitting room into a room adjacent.

"Harry? Shall we?" Sirius asked. Harry was watching the place where Ginny and Ron had vanished, a sort of vacant expression on his face. "You feeling alright?"

"Huh? Yeah, yes," said Harry, mentally shaking himself and following Sirius through the next room and into the dining room. A long mahogany table, with small figurines carved on the sides of what Harry determined to be chimeras and dragons, sat adorned in flowers from the back garden and a small dark green table cloth that only covered one end. A chandelier hung above them, one he recognized from Grimmauld Place, one of the few artifacts in the old Black house that wasn't dreadfully creepy in every sense. The walls were a dark green, similar to the table cloth, and had white flames chasing each other around the room at eye level, right above where the wood base ended and the wallpaper began.

Harry sat at his usual seat and Sirius in his. They sat back, looking at each other for a moment.

"I am sorry about what I said last night," said Sirius, his tone sharp. "I wish there was an easier way to say that. Unfortunately, you are Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, I'm afraid that everything everyone else experiences is going to be tenfold harder for you."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry curiously.

"Well, it's going to be harder for you to have a relationship with a girl because unlike your friends you will have to decide whether the girl likes you for you or because you are Harry Potter. Obviously, Hermione likes you for you, but if things don't work out, what about the next one? You are going to have your hands full of girls until you are married, it's just the way it works." Sirius stopped, eyeing Harry with an odd expression. "Falling in love is a very real thing, I watched your parents do it and we're all watching Lupin and Tonks do it. It happens, but you…you must be very careful…" his voice lowered until it was barely audible, scratching its words into the air. "The person you give your heart to must understand what it means to be with Harry Potter in addition to the amazing person you are…"

He stopped abruptly as Kreacher walked into the room, accompanied by Ron and Ginny, who were both exchanging awestruck looks. They seemed to notice that they had just walked in on a private conversation and looked somewhat awkward, Ginny mouth 'Sorry' to Harry as she took a seat next to Sirius. Ron sat next to Harry, looking around the room with interest.

"This place is really cool," said Ron, smiling broadly. "So much better than Grimmauld Place."

"Would Mister Weasley like some tea?" asked Kreacher, holding up a tea cup and the pot of tea.

"Yes, Kreacher," said Ron with amusement, "I would love some." He looked up at Harry. "Any idea when our OWL results come? I'm sure Hermione's having a fit, eh? I thought she would be here by now, with one thing…and another." He winked at Harry while he took a sip of tea.

Harry saw Ginny's eyes drop to her tea quickly out of the corner of his eye as Ron winked, but didn't look at her. "Her grandfather died last week. She's in Belgium with her parents, taking care of her grandmother until next Wednesday."

"She's going to miss your party!" said Ron, his eyes widening with shock.

"My birthday is on Thursday," Harry reminded him, "she's coming Thursday morning."

"Cutting it a bit close, eh?" said Ron.

"I think her grandmother needs a bit more help than my birthday needs celebrating," said Harry gravely. "Apparently, the woman has Dementia. On top of that she's like eight-five."

"That's nothing! Dumbledore is a hundred and fifty! McGonagall is, what, seventy-five?" said Ron, looking from Harry to Sirius.

"Muggles don't live as long as wizards," said Sirius, finally joining in on the conversation. "Dumbledore is a healthy hundred and fifty, but the oldest Muggle ever was only a hundred and fifteen, or something, and I wouldn't exactly call him alive. Dumbledore can still duel and function properly, but a muggle that is over a hundred usually can't even walk around."

Ron let out a bark of laughter. "Muggles," he sighed into his cup of tea. Harry grinned. It was so nice to have Ron back.

While Ron unpacked his things, later that evening, into the bedroom Sirius had set aside for him, Harry sat at the desk chair flipping through that day's issue of the Daily Prophet.

"I reckon I was a bit harsh on Hermione this summer, about the Prophet anyway," said Harry, not looking at Ron. "I got pretty edgy at times when we'd watch the news or read the paper and Voldemort was blowing up the place."

Ron chuckled. "After last year when you ripped on us, you know, when you first got to Grimmauld Place…I think we've both seen you at your worst," said Ron, smirking as he took out the dress robes Fred and George had given him and hung them in his closet.

Harry didn't answer right away. It was true he'd been quite angry last summer after he'd been attacked by dementors and was begging for answers, and he had taken it out, as he always did, on the only two people who really truly cared about him and understood him more than anyone else.

"I suppose," Harry mumbled, looking back at Ron. "Anyway, I want to hear more about your time in Romania!"

Ron stopped unpacking and stretched, looking tired but a boyish excitement lit up his face. "Harry, you wouldn't believe everything there! It was amazing, and not just the dragons. The mountains were beautiful and Charlie's house was pretty sweet."

"Start from the beginning!" said Harry, leaning forward on his chair, feeding off of Ron's excitement.

Ron set down something he had just picked up out of his trunk and plopped down on his bed. "Alright. So Charlie meets me at the Burrow the day after school gets out, right? He says that we're going to stay there for one night, I'm going to go take my OWLs with the examiners at the Ministry the next day, and we'll leave the following day, so that I'm not under a lot of pressure." He paused and gave Harry a look. "How about those OWLs, huh? The examiners were pretty strange, eh?"

Harry nodded. "Did you have that really old wizard for the defense against the dark arts practical exam?" he asked.

Ron shook his head. "I had a younger guy, seemed to know who I was and that you are my best friend, though. Kinda creepy." He shrugged, and barreled on. "It was three days after school ended before we left, anyway. And Charlie said it was best if we travel by port key, so he sent my luggage on ahead and we took a port key. Never cared for them much. One time we used a port key to get to Auntie Muriel's and, well," he shuddered, "sometimes I still have nightmares. I was really young, I think Ginny was only three, and apparently it hurts worse the younger you are." Harry cringed, remembering all to vividly the port key for the Quidditch World Cup, and then in Dumbledore's office just last Christmas.

"We arrived in the middle of his village, Norwalk, and he showed me around before we headed to his place. He lived just outside of the village, not even a quarter mile down the road, next to all the other dragon tamers his age. Each of them had their own house, though, which I thought was kind of strange," Ron pondered. "I think I expected them to be in a dormitory like Hogwarts."

"I suppose they do whatever they can to get out of a dormitory setting the moment the leave Hogwarts," said Harry, half laughing.

Ron nodded. "That's exactly what Charlie said! Except he's the only bloke there from Hogwarts. Two attended Beauxbaton and five attended Durmstrang. All of them got along great, though, no rivalries." Harry was reminded of Viktor Krum sharing information of Durmstrang with Hermione at the Yule Ball and his headmaster, the former death eater, Igor Karkaroff, reprimanded him for revealing too much about the school. At the thought of Hermione, his stomach flipped over, and he lost his train of thought for a moment. Ron snapped him back.

"Charlie's house was something else, Harry," said Ron, shaking his head in disbelief. "Every other piece of furniture was crafted from some part of an animal, mostly dragon bones and teeth, dragon hide, and stuff like that. His kitchen stuff was all pewter, though." He laughed. "Charlie said they tried to used dragon scales back at the turn of the century as a skillet, but they didn't know at that time what dragon scales actually were. About ten people were poisoned as a result, two died." Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't laugh, he didn't find anything funny about that.

"Anyway," said Ron, gathering himself up again. "Within the first week they had me in the caves where they were going to keep the imported dragons, hacking away with a couple other blokes my own age. We were given axes, pickaxes, and long fused strips of muggle pipe bombs. They said that the caves were already secured by magic and we just needed to carve out different sections for five dragons." He shook his head again, reveling in the memory. "At first I thought it was so pointless, that two men could just point their wands at it and carve them out perfectly. But after Charlie showed me the other caves, the natural ones versus the ones the had boys cutting out for the last couple years, I saw how much more natural they looked when they were carved out. There was this one that had been blasted by a wand and it didn't have stalagtites or ridges, it wasn't exactly smooth, but it didn't look natural at all." He grinned broadly. "Besides, it was effing cool to use pickaxes."

Ron jumped off his bed and held an imaginary pickaxe in his hands. "There would be this one section of the wall that needed to come out, but a pipe bomb would take out way too much. So me and Al, a sixth year from Durmstrang, would hack four of five times on each side and the portion would just fall out of the wall." He made a couple of hacking motions, and Harry saw the evidence of new muscles ripple under his shirt. He smiled at the point in the air he'd just been swinging his imaginary pickaxe, then shrugged and jumped back onto the bed, his face falling ever so slightly.

"Let me tell you, though," said Ron, very seriously, "it was not easy work. I broke my arm the first week. Easy to mend, enough, but damn it got so sore sometimes. I always thought of the bludger that broke your arm, can't believe you had to have all the bones regrown!" He sighed and his shoulders heaved, making him look years older, matured, experienced. "It wasn't easy, but it was definitely work that I needed, you know? I got to work through a lot of stuff in my head."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really? Like what?"

Ron shrugged. "Just the normal stuff. I mean, anger after my mum dying, anger towards Voldemort and the death eaters. But also just what I want out of life, finding what's most important." Harry remained silent. This was not the same Ron that left for Romania a month ago. He was impressed, to say the least, and even a little jealous that he'd done so much growing. He, Harry, had spent the summer being upset with his girlfriend and fuming around her parents' house complaining about how he couldn't do anything.

"The hard manual labor really helped at first," Ron continued, not noticing Harry's fraying thoughts, "because I had the most unresolved anger when I first got there. After a week and a half, though, we started receiving the different dragons." A grin returned to his face and Harry shifted in his seat, feeling Ron's words sharpen with potential thrill. "Hagrid, by far, was he most excited. Since he can't use magic he mostly helped tether the beasts and keep an eye on us younger kids."

As Ron explained what was actually involved with importing dragons and what he did, the same pang of jealousy he'd felt moments ago returned, and guiltily Harry realized he was paying more attention to Ron than what he was saying. He was watching his best friend's animated face change and illuminate with each description. When he hopped off the bed to demonstrate specific movements or amusing physical humor he'd observed, Harry noticed that Ron had grown at least six more inches, putting him a good foot taller than Harry himself. Hermione had pointed out that he'd grown a bit by the time he'd left Allymaar Road, but he was still nowhere near Ron. Though, when he thought of Mr. Weasley, Harry knew that Ron's height was a given. He reckoned Ron might even be as tall as Bill now.

The only thing that relieved Harry of more jealousy was the fact that Ron kept mentioning him throughout his stories, how he'd told his co-workers that his best friend was Harry Potter and, though they were skeptical at first, they bombarded him with questions. He said he knew better than to divulge on Harry.

"Like I was actually going to tell Mouse, that's what we called the shortest guy, even though he weighed about as much as your cousin Dudley, what you were planning on doing to defeat Voldemort. I mean, seriously, some of these guys were so dim. I wish you had been there, though. We would have had an awesome time. Unfortunately, Charlie said that they needed only one more hand, and, well, you said it yourself: it would be good for me to deal with stuff."

"I said that?" Harry asked, somewhat shocked. He thought he'd only said it to himself, maybe Ginny.

Ron looked at him curiously. "You…or Ginny, maybe. I don't remember. Talk about getting over mum's death. Ginny refuses to talk about it, Bill told me. It's almost like she's angry at mum, for all the things she didn't do while she was alive." He paused and a look of guilt came over him. "Honestly, there were times when I couldn't tell if I was more angry at my mum for the things she never did or at her killers. Sometimes I found myself shivering with glee that she wouldn't reprimand me for all the things she used to, from something as small as not wearing matching socks to being so overprotective at Diagon Alley. You know? I wasn't proud of it, and in no way is that how I actually feel, but those were the kinds of feelings I was suffering under. If Ginny or Fred or George had been there with me, there's no way I could have gotten through them because we'd all be having different reactions." He looked hard at Harry. "But your letters, they did me good, I'll tell you. I appreciate you understanding I couldn't write you back, but even so your consolations did wonders. I felt as though you were actually there with me."

Harry smiled sympathetically. "I'm glad, Ron." He and Ron stared at each other for a moment. Harry coughed, finally, and shifted in his chair. "I sure missed you. Hermione just reads all day long, or wants to talk about our OWL exams."

Ron smirked. "That's right, I keep forgetting you spent a month there. How was it, eh?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I said before, it was full of fighting and anxiety, mostly brought on by me, of course." A guilty feeling swept over him, remembering painstakingly his behavior towards her, undeserved wrath.

Ron seemed to be able to tell what Harry was thinking. "I wouldn't worry about it, mate. I'm sure Hermione understands, even expects it. 'Sides, you two are such good friends…" his voice trailed off, not needing to say anything else.

Silence drifted between them for a couple minutes. Ron had sprawled out on his bed and his slow, deep breathing made Harry almost certain that he was asleep until he sat bolt upright and jumped off his bed.

"Merlin's pants!" he said, almost shouting. He lowered his voice and kind of jolted himself in a convulsive way, shooting a furtive look at the door. "I almost forgot!" he rummaged through his trunk and pulled something out. Holding it up, Harry could see the dim outline of what appeared to be a statue, small, as the figurine of Krum Ron had bought at the Quidditch World Cup, though made of stone. Harry got up of his chair and walked up to Ron, his eyes locked on the statue, wanting to get a better look.

"What is it?" Harry asked as Ron handed it to him.

"Dunno, really," said Ron, grinning. "I found it while digging in the caves. Charlie reckons it was from the early twentieth century, before that side of the mountain caved in and an entire village of witches and wizards lived there. It's super cool though, and really entertaining."

"It looks…alive, almost," said Harry, putting the object close to his nose.

"Whoa, don't get too close!" said Ron, pulling it away from him. Before he could, though, the wizard puffed up his chest and sneezed a white powder onto Harry's face. Harry coughed and held the statue out for Ron to take. Ron laughed. "The same thing happened to me, about four times, until I figured out that if I put my nose close enough the wizard sneezes." He brushed off some of the powder still on Harry's forehead and hairline. "I bet it does other stuff, but I can't really try anything until we're back at school and I can use magic."

Harry was still looking at it carefully. "That is so bizarre. It sneezes?"

"I know!" said Ron, laughing. He set it on the table beside his bed. "He's rather old. And see here?" he pointed to the base. "Something used to be carved into the stone below his feet, but it's too cracked now to actually read it." He let out an involuntary yawn, and quickly covered his mouth. "Wow, sorry. I still haven't fully recovered. Lot of work, very little sleep."

"Say no more," said Harry, repressing his own yawn. "We will have plenty to talk about tomorrow, I'm sure. And if our OWL results come, we're going to need to go to Diagon Alley."

Harry said goodnight and retreated to his own room. Ron was one floor above Harry's, as was Ginny's. He passed her room, the door was slightly ajar, and he saw her move past the small shaft of light. He crept past, trying to pick his feet up on the carpet.

"Harry?" a whisper echoed behind him. He turned and saw Ginny poking her head out of her door. "Goodnight!" she smiled.

He grinned. "Goodnight, Ginny." She disappeared behind the door and the light went out, so he continued to the end of the hall and ever so quietly down the steps. In contrast to Grimmauld Place, Habeon Drive didn't creak with old or smell of musty carpeting. It was newer and cleaner, and with Kreacher being as pleasurable as he was, everything shone much more brightly than it ever had at Grimmauld Place.

His was the first door on the left at the foot of the stairs, Sirius' was at the end of the hall on the right, and a little stream of light was still visible under the door. Harry stood still for a moment, trying to hear any movement inside the room. He couldn't, and resolved Sirius was reading, or something similar, and opened the door silently to his own room.


	6. Preparations

**Ooohkay, we're going to rip the bandage off real quickly here. To clear the air and to reassure you H/Hr fans: THIS IS A H/Hr STORY. Yes, folks, contrary to where you think this story IS going, just go with the angst and the torture! Lol. Nah, I am just going for more realism in the relationship and it will be rocky for a chapter or two, but things will turn around again. So...beginning the first of a three chapter post...happy reading.**

* * *

Three days after Ron and Ginny arrived, Harry and Ron's OWL results came. Harry, Ron and Ginny were sitting at the kitchen table, eating another delicious breakfast provided by Kreacher, when three owls soared in tail-to-tail through the small hole near the ceiling, where Pigwidgeon had flown in just days ago carrying Ron's letter for Harry. Ron and Ginny, who hadn't had the pleasure of witnessing an owl fly through this hole, started, and Ron slopped milk down the front of his shirt. Ginny, however, stylishly set down her fork and clapped with glee as the beautiful brown owls soared around the kitchen before landing in the center of the table.

"Holy thestrals," said Ron, sucking in a deep breath, eyeing the owl in front of him with severe apprehension. "I don't know if I want to accept this owl. Can we just pretend not to notice? Will they fly away if we don't take the letter?" Harry laughed.

Kreacher, who had noticed the arrival of the owls, bustled in with a pan of bacon and set it between the owls. The owl in front of Ron dropped the letter into the middle of his plate and began at once to nibble at the bacon. Harry laughed at Ron's look of astonishment and took the letter from his own owl, Ginny did likewise.

"Come on, Ron, it can't be that bad! At the very worst we won't have to take Divination and History of Magic!" he began to open his letter, then stopped, scrunching up his nose. "Did I say worst? I meant best." Ginny giggled and watched him anxiously as he peeled away the Hogwarts seal and removed the pieces of parchment. He grazed briefly over what each of the letters of pass and fail grades represented and felt his heart beat faster as he read on.

_Harry James Potter has achieved_

_Astronomy – Acceptable_

_Care of Magical Creatures – Exceeds Expectations_

_Charms – Exceeds Expectations_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts – Outstanding_

_Divination – Dreadful_

_Herbology – Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic – Dreadful_

_Potions – Exceeds Expectations_

_Transfiguration – Outstanding_

It took him nearly three minutes to completely digest every word on the parchment, even more the fact that he'd received an Outstanding in both Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. When he finally looked up and saw Ginny's expression, a mingle between exasperation and concern, then he realized his mouth was hanging open. He shut it, but didn't move. Ron looked up seconds later.

"Swap?" said Ron, a bit hoarsely. Harry nodded numbly and Ginny impatiently shifted in her seat. Ron handed his own letter across the owls, and Harry exchanged it with his. He didn't spend quite as long on Ron's letter as he did on his own, mostly because he was still too shocked at his own results. Ron only had one Outstanding, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and other than an Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration, he and Harry had all the same results.

"Ha-rry!" Ron exclaimed, emphasizing the syllables in his name. "Two Outstandings! I say…" his voice trailed off as he looked up at Harry, grinning from ear to ear. "I suppose it helps when your girlfriend is the effing library!"

Harry laughed, glancing at Ginny out of the corner of his eye. "Not bad yourself, mate. We got all the same grades!" he was about to exchange letters with Ron again when Ginny snatched them both at the center.

"Good grief, I can't take it anymore!" she said, smirking. Holding them side to side, Harry watched her, innocently, glance back and forth, comparing the grades.

"Want to bet Hermione strolls in here with eleven Outstandings?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows at Ron, who had taken another bite of egg and was grinning like a chipmunk. "The day before we took our OWLs this summer, I only saw her for five minutes at breakfast, and then not until the next morning when Moody and Tonks picked us up to take us to the Ministry." He laughed, remembering Hermione's fingernails digging into his arm as they rode in the ministry vehicles and Tonks talking about taking her OWLs.

"Congratulations, you two," said Ginny, very shortly, but looked pleased. "Ron, you got more OWLs than Fred and George put together! Mum would be so proud of you…" she stopped suddenly and her ears turned red, her jaw set, and Harry could, in that instant, see Fred and George in her facial structure.

"Good morning!" sang Sirius as he walked into the kitchen. He was fastening the buckle on his belt, holding up the pair of jeans he claimed he bought at a muggle shop. He stopped in stride when he saw the look on Ginny's face. "Who died?"

"Sirius!" said Harry, sharply.

Ginny's face turned so quickly from shock and incredulity to excitement and delight that Harry wasn't sure if the former had ever been there. "They just got their OWL results, Sirius! Look!" She held out the pieces of parchment and Sirius strode over and took them from her hands, scanning them carefully.

"Wow! Both of you got an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts! That is something else," he grinned down at Harry and Ron, "no doubt from, what was it, Dumbledore's Army?"

Ron snorted. "Harry could have gotten an outstanding in that subject with his hands tied behind his back. But the rest of the fifth year, nah, I bet every single person in the DA got an outstanding!" He gave Harry an admiring look, then looked at Ginny. "How about you, then, did you pass everything?"

Ginny mouthed, "Did I pass everything?" in a mocking sort of way and sneered at him, though she looked amused. "Of course I did," she said, finally.

"I guess we can go to Diagon Alley today, then, now that you got your Hogwarts letters," said Sirius, drawing out the chair between Ron and Ginny and taking a seat, accepting a heaping plate of food from Kreacher. "Thanks, Kreacher," he said, absently, still appearing to be deep in thought. "I think Moody said he and Tonks would be available as a guard this week."

"Hell yes," said Ron slamming a fist down on the table, "I cannot wait to see Weasleys Wizard Wheezes." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you hear? Fred and George opened their joke shop in Diagon Alley. They've had to sleep in the flat about the shop because they're so busy. They reckon they'll be able to pay you back in a year or two's time."

Harry put on a sour look. "Pay me back? Why the bloody hell would I want them to pay me back?" he poked his scrambled eggs with his fork. "What's the point of a gift anymore if no one wants to keep it?"

"You know how it is, mate," said Ron, "can you imagine accepting a thousand galleons from The Chosen One?" He laughed. "Well, I guess you can't. Anyway, it's not like they don't appreciate it, I think they named one of their products after you."

Ginny giggled. "That's right, I overheard them talking about it last time they were home. What was it?" she tapped her chin and gazed into the air as though the product itself would swoop down and reveal itself to her. "Potter's Plants: Touch them if you dare! Is what the sign reads, I think."

Ron nodded vigorously. "If you touch any part of the green you get electrocuted!" Harry exchanged a look with Sirius, not quite sure if he got the joke. Ron's look changed to exasperation. "Your scar of course! Electrocution…lightning…it's not like it would kill you like lightning would, but they made it so your body looks like its one big ball of static and then you can see your bones." He chuckled, amused.

"See your bones? Like an x-ray?" Harry asked, feeling a bit taken aback by this revelation.

"X-ray?" asked Ginny. "What's an x-ray?"

"It's a muggle method of checking on broken bones," said Sirius lazily, "and I reckon it's something like that, though it may or may not be your actual bones."

Harry smiled. Potter's Plants? That ought to be a laugh.

"Harry?" said Ron, looking at the envelope sitting in front of Harry. "You've got something else there…"

Harry looked down and indeed, the envelope still had something in it. There was a small, circular bulk near one corner, and he stared at it curiously.

Ginny looked from Harry to Ron, and she and Ron seemed to be sharing a similar idea. Ron stared at her, his eyes wide. "You don't reckon!"

Harry picked up the envelope and turned it upside down. A small, scarlet badge fluttered into his hand and he held it up to inspect it.

"It is!" Ron shouted, jumping up from his seat and rounding behind him to look at it more closely. "Harry! You've been made Quidditch captain!"

Sirius looked up from his plate with a big grin. "Wow! Congratulations, Harry!"

"Oh, that is so exciting!" said Ginny, clapping her hands.

"Wow…" Harry managed to say. "Quidditch captain?" He turned the badge over in his hand, undergoing a surreal sensation. He'd almost forgotten how much he loved Quidditch, how much he missed it, after being disbanded from the game last year. A surge of emotions and memories overtook him and he had vision of kicking off from the ground and soaring into the air, the wind whipping his hair back and nothing but him and his Firebolt at top speed.

"Harry? You still with us?" asked Ron, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

Harry didn't answer, he really wasn't with them. He was far, far away, high in the air, soaring above the cheers and whoops of his fellow classmates.

Harry and Ron spent that evening admiring all of the things they'd bought from Fred and George's shop and conversing over all they had seen and done. Diagon Alley had been quite strange and very different from Harry's memory of it. Though he hadn't been there in the last two years, Mrs. Weasley had gone for him, he couldn't remember it being so heavily guarded.

Security details of aurors and qualified wizards had been stationed every two stores and patrolled the streets, particularly around the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Moody and Tonks had led them around, specifically assigned to them for Harry's protection. However, after Ron mentioned that Harry would have a difficult time getting through the crowds of people, with his fame heightened as a result of the events in June, Harry said he would rather eat toe fungus than be bombarded by people and insisted he go under his invisibility cloak. He passed his gold to Sirius who bought him his books, and was thus able to sneak up on Fred inside Weasleys Wizard Wheezes and scared the living daylights out of him.

It took nearly four hours to get through everything they needed. Ron had eighty galleons to spend after working for Charlie for a month—they had given him a generous tip for staying on an extra week when all the other boys went home—and disappeared for a half an hour while Harry and Ginny had an ice cream cone at Florean Fortescue's. When he came back he insisted that he couldn't find what he had gone looking for, but kept sticking his hand into his pocket when he thought Harry wasn't looking.

Along the way, Harry had pulled Sirius aside and asked him what he should get for Hermione, as a present, just a little something. It occurred to him that her birthday was in a month's time and he should probably think ahead to that as well, but he knew she might not be in the most high of spirits after having spent two weeks with her less than capable grandmother so soon after her grandfather's funeral.

"Girls always like necklaces," offered Sirius, nodding towards a jewelry store.

"Hermione's got a gold locket with her initials on it," said Harry, though he knew that would have been a good idea. "A book is too…non boyfriendish, don't you think?"

Sirius laughed. "I would definitely not give a girlfriend a book as a present," said Sirius. "I'm sure you could find something at Fred and George's."

And find something he had. The shop was full of the items Fred and George had invented during school, but that was hardly ten percent of their total products. There was everything from protective hats and cloaks to love potions to muggle magic tricks. The display was spectacular and the shop so crowded that Harry could barely move around under the invisibility cloak. After a time, though, he noticed that no one could tell who was bumping into whom and he stopped bothering about anyone running into him.

According to Fred and George, the love potions had been flying off the shelves by giggling girls so fast they could hardly keep up with the demand. They joked about how it was probably all for Harry, the girls being so infatuated with The Chosen One, now. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to laugh, but felt sickened by the thought, making him very glad he was invisible. The idea of even a quarter of Hogwarts' girls buying a love potion to give to him was scary. He was glad, in that respect, that he had Hermione who would probably be able to spot a love potion a mile away.

What would he do, though, if someone managed to slip him a love potion? He'd never been under a control like that and wondered, vaguely, if it was anything like the imperius curse and the person subject to it just had to simply resist it by will. With a pang, he thought of Hermione and what she would do or say if he suddenly went ga-ga over another girl.

The idea altogether amused him, after he got over thinking about being given one by half of Hogwarts' girls, and he bought a love potion, a mild one. The bottle read, "A kick in the right direction! Three drops in the morning and he's yours until sundown!" He thought he would write a little note to Hermione and say that if he was ever acting like a bad boyfriend she could slip it into his morning pumpkin juice and she would have one hell of a day. Ron particularly liked his idea.

Ginny became interested in a small pygmy puff that she quite obviously didn't have enough money for, and Ron graciously bought it for her. Harry had been about to pass Sirius the money to get it for her himself, but when he saw the look on Ron's face after Ginny had put one of the small, furry creatures back inside the jar, he had watched with something close to awe as Ron pulled out his sack of money and handed ten sickles it to Fred and George without so much as blinking.

Harry distinctively remembered Ron shouting once, a couple years ago, "Why is everything I own rubbish!" The scene in the shop made Harry go numb, jealous again of how much Ron had grown up during their month apart, made him almost long to go off on his own and find himself in the way Ron had.

All of Harry and Ron's purchased items were now spread out on Harry's bedroom floor. It was late, nearly midnight, but neither boy was very tired. They were too excited from their trip to Diagon Alley and, with Harry's birthday looming in the air, couldn't manage to stop talking.

"Twenty minutes!" said Ron, glancing at his watch. "Sixteen in twenty minutes!"

Harry popped a handful of Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans into his mouth and cringed. He and Ron had been doing that for nearly two hours, laughing at the ridiculous faces they'd each make at the assortment of flavors they got in each handful. Harry tasted vomit and nearly spat it all out, but gritted his teeth and forced the lump down his throat, then smacked his mouth in disgust.

"I think my luck gets worse as we get towards the bottom of the box," he said, gazing at the half empty box of beans. "Ah well, I can't imagine a better way to spend the eve of my birthday. I think this is, hands down, the best birthday ever. I can feel it. I've never had so much fun in the days surrounding it."

"But last year," said Ron, tossing a handful of beans into his mouth, "we got all that excellent news about…oh, nothing!" His face contorted and he coughed, "Hairball!" He swallowed with what appeared to be much pain. "Remember, don't you? The Order was just skipping around us, not bothering to tell us anything while we cleaned their house and made it fit for habitation? Now after what happened at Hogwarts I bet they'll be more keen to give us information." He paused and thought for a moment. "I suppose my mum had a lot to do with it, too, eh? She was the driving force behind shutting Sirius up while he was trying to bring you up to speed when you first got to Grimmauld Place."

Harry didn't answer. He had thought of that, too, but had felt too ashamed to admit it to Ron. Ron seemed to sense what Harry was thinking and shrugged in a noncommittal sort of way.

"How about Tonks, though?" said Harry, grinning. "Blonde hair? I don't think we've seen her without pink or purple."

"I know!" said Ron. "Lupin is doing a number on her, isn't he? And from what you told me about him, she's certainly got her hands in his pockets, if you know what I mean." He snickered and handed the box of Bertie's Beans to Harry.

"It'll be interesting to see them together tomorrow, won't it?" Harry thought aloud. "And Bill and Fleur. I haven't seen her since Cedric's funeral."

"They're a piece of work," said Ron, sticking out his tongue. "She is beautiful, don't get me wrong, but sometimes she just seems to be…insane. I guess she's been helping dad with a lot of the household stuff around the Burrow, since she's only working part time at Gringotts."

"When are they getting married again?" asked Harry.

"Next summer. That should be a good time. I bet Tonks and Lupin will get married too, before long," said Ron. He yawned suddenly, involuntarily. "Whoa, where did that come from?" He laughed. Then he nearly jumped off his spot on the floor. "Harry! Happy Birthday!"

"What? Oh!" Harry looked at his own watch. It was five after midnight. "I'm sixteen!" They stood up and Harry took a heaping fistful of Bertie's Beans in his hand, and Ron did the same. "Oh God," said Harry, staring at his own beans, "I bet you there is a vomit, ear wax, toe shavings, and maggot flavored beans in here." They raised their hands in a sort of cheer and then shoved every last bean into their mouths, immediately falling to the floor, convulsing with repulsion at the horrific combination of flavors in their mouths.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" a small voice squealed. Harry sat bolt upright in bed and squinted into the morning sunlight, which was all a hazy blur without his glasses. Then a pair of very soft lips pressed on his own and the voice registered inside his head.

"Hermione!" he said, breathlessly, as she pulled away from their kiss. "You nearly gave me heart failure! I wouldn't mind living until seventeen…you know."

She giggled and plopped herself down by his feet. He slid his glasses on and she came into focus. She looked a bit tanner than when they'd parted two weeks ago, but other than that she looked like her regular, beautiful self.

"When did you get here?" asked Harry, stretching out his arms and yawning.

"Just five minutes ago," she said, and Harry noticed she was still wearing her light jacket. "So, how does it feel to be sixteen?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, the last thirty seconds hasn't been all that bad," he said, winking. "I suppose my fortunes are bound to go up from here."

She giggled again and got to her feet. She slid off her jacket and laid it on the back of his chair. "Sirius said you four went to Diagon Alley yesterday?" she said, turning back to him, before her eye landed on Hedwig and she hurried to go pet her.

"Yeah, have you been, yet?" he asked.

"No, we only got home late last night. Tonks came and picked me up this morning. Guess I'm not as important to get Dumbledore himself," she looked at him and gave him an amused smile. "It was good, though, she's so much fun to talk to."

"I know! She and Moody escorted us around Diagon Alley," said Harry as he flung the covers off his lower body and jumped out of bed.

Hermione laughed. "Yes, she said that you insisted on wearing your invisibility cloak," she said, amused. "It can't be easy going around Diagon Alley hidden beneath that thing, can it?"

Harry shrugged, yawning and stretching again. "It wasn't to-o-o bad," he said, his yawn impeding his speech. "Oh! Before I forget, I got you something!"

Hermione stood still, looking confused. "But it's your birthday, Harry, what do you mean you got me something?"

Harry laughed, and rummaged through the top drawer of his dresser. "This has nothing to do with my birthday, if you would have gotten here in a week I would have given it to you then, but you're here now and I want to give it to you." He pulled out the bottle of love potion and quickly concealed it behind his back, she was trying to peer around his back as she walked up to him. "No peeking, it comes with a little verbal message."

"Verbal message?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and looking somewhat apprehensive. "What does that mean?"

Harry shook his head. "I know I was a bit harsh while I was at your house this summer, and I know it was my fault. I let the Prophet get to me and whatnot, and I'm trying not to let it—"

"Oh, Harry, you don't think I actually held that against you, do you—"

"Hermione!" said Harry, cutting her off. She held up her hands in surrender and bid him to go on. "Anyway. Things might get that way again once we go back to Hogwarts, so, I bought you something to use if I ever get unbearable." Her eyes widened as he revealed the little bottle of love potion and held it out to her, chuckling. "All you need to do is let a couple drops slip into my morning drink and I will be the best boyfriend you have ever had, which wouldn't be too hard considering..." he let his voice trail off with an air of suppressed criticism, thinking menacingly of Krum. The odd thing was, no matter how many doubts he had about their relationship, the idea of her with someone else made a strange jealous creature rear up inside his chest.

Hermione's mouth was slightly open in shock and amusement as she took the bottle from him, looking from him to the bottle in successive counts. "This is…unexpected," she said. "But, um, thanks, I guess!" she laughed and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You do know love potions are one of the most powerful potions in the world, don't you? Amortentia is the strongest of all, but I doubt this is that. Where did you get this?"

"Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, of course," said Harry, pulling out a drawer.

"Oh, right, I thought they would be opening that joke shop soon," she said, smiling at the little bottle. "And I probably won't be able to see it until next year."

Just then the door burst open and Ron came bounding in, grinning broadly. "Happy Birthday, again, Harry," he said. Then he noticed Hermione and nodded at her. "Oh, I see how it is. You get midnight calls, and I—"

"I just got here, Ronald," said Hermione, crossing her arms again and trying to slip the bottle into her jacket without him noticing. But as Ron had been with Harry when he bought the potion, he only grinned more broadly and cast a knowing look at Harry, who was changing out of his pajamas.

"Can't a guy change in peace around here?" Harry asked. Ron snickered.

"Come on, hurry up. Kreacher's got a wonderful birthday breakfast prepared for you. And your present stash won't get any higher until tonight," said Ron. "Hermione, come with me, I want to show you something before breakfast."

"Alright," she said, grabbing her jacket. "See you downstairs, Harry."

Harry nodded distractedly and rummaged through his bottom drawer trying to find his jeans. He'd just found them and slid them on when an owl flew through the window and landed on his bed, holding a note in its beak. He fastened the clasp on his jeans and walked over to accept the owl from the bird, which hooted once and flew back out the window.

"What's this?" he mumbled, gazing at the unfamiliar handwriting on the front, which just read Harry Potter. He tore open the envelope and removed the bit of parchment inside.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! Your godfather invited me to your party tonight but I am afraid I can't make it. My gran took me and my younger cousin, who now attends Beauxbaton, to Italy for a couple weeks and we became delayed in returning. I thought we'd make it back by yesterday, but things didn't go quite as planned. So I apologize that I won't be there to help you celebrate, but very much appreciate the invitation. I will no doubt see you on the Hogwarts Express on September first. Have a wonderful day and see you soon!_

_Neville_

Harry smiled down at the parchment. Sirius had invited Neville to his party? What a wonderful idea. It made him wonder, briefly, who else Sirius had invited. With a new surge of affection, he felt elated by the thought that Sirius had taken the time to arrange such a party for him. _Too bad he can't come_, Harry thought, _I would have liked to talk to him before school started, see how he's doing_.

He remembered, vividly, the moment Neville had ran after Bellatrix LeStrange and sent the curse that ended her straight for her chest. The look on Neville's face, one of pain and anger, but also of shocking incredulity, when he had blasted her down was one that had been daunting him all summer. He, Harry, had done virtually nothing but defend others during that battle, he hadn't finished off anyone, much less Voldemort. But Neville had taken down his first in command, someone he had thought for so long was almost as invincible as Voldemort.

Invincible. How that idea tormented him. The idea that Voldemort had an edge, an unknown edge, that kept him alive while Harry was stuck with the lame power of love. How had Voldemort survived when the killing curse rebounded on him those fifteen years ago? Was that what Dumbledore was to teach him? How to become invincible so as to meet Voldemort on equal grounds?

Somewhere inside of himself, Harry knew that Dumbledore wouldn't teach him magic that concerned the dark arts. But he also felt that if Dumbledore wasn't going to teach him to survive by skill matched only by Voldemort, he was lost to where their lessons were to begin.


	7. Double Flames

"Alright, alright," said Sirius, loudly, over the many loud conversing voices gathered within the sitting room, kitchen, and dining room of his house. He clinked his glass with a fork and held it up. Very quickly the room died down as every eye found the glass, and then locked onto Sirius. "Thank you! Well, thank you all for coming!" There were a couple whoops and giggles, and Sirius raised his glass in a cheer. "It's nearly seven, so I thought I'd say a little something before dinner is served." He cleared his throat and his eyes searched the crowd until they found Harry's, and then they latched onto him.

Harry was standing between Hermione and Ron, all three clutching goblets of red wine. He watched his godfather's face, now so softened by life in the public eye and filled with two years of a healthy diet, and he saw a passion and love in him that he couldn't ever remember seeing before. As he watched Sirius gather himself and prepare to speak, Harry was almost certain no one had gazed upon him in such a way, in a way so near to a look a parent would have given him it made his heart skip a few beats. In that moment, he felt like every other sixteen year old on their birthday.

"Since being cleared of all charges by the ministry of magic, I knew that this was going to be my first great act as Harry's godfather," said Sirius, his eyes still latched onto Harry's face. Many people were looking at Sirius, but many more were having difficulty choosing between Sirius and Harry. "I made up for thirteen birthdays a while ago, but it still wasn't satisfying me and I know that James never would have forgiven me if I didn't throw something similar for his only son." He paused. "Harry, I am so proud of you and all that you've accomplished by the age of sixteen, and I am so honored that your parents chose me as your godfather. To every single person here, you are more than The Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One, you've touched our lives and our hearts and we want to help you celebrate the opening of the sixteenth year of your life."

"Cheers!" Ron shouted, raising his glass in the air.

Sirius grinned affectionately. "Happy Birthday, Harry!" he said, raising his own goblet in the air. A resounding of "Happy Birthday" echoed across the room as everyone raised their glasses. There was much clinking, and those closest to Harry clinked their own glass with his, and everyone drank. Harry felt his face go red hot and Hermione giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Well, he's got the role of godfather down alright," Harry grumbled, only loud enough for Ron and Hermione to hear, "can he embarrass me any more?"

"Let's just hope he doesn't have naked baby pictures of you!" Ron chuckled. "My mum loved to show mine at birthday parties until I found them all and accidentally let them slip into the fire." He mimed tripping and letting the contents of his arms spill out. Harry and Hermione laughed.

"It almost makes me glad I was brought up by muggles," said Hermione, still giggling. "No moving pictures!" Ron's face scrunched up, but he didn't pursue any kind of retort. The dining room table had just been magically laden with food and he became distracted.

"Wow, Kreacher has outdone himself tonight!" said Harry, feeling his stomach rumble unexpectedly. The food looked delicious, all of his favorites and more. "This nearly resembles the welcome feast at Hogwarts!"

"Kreacher isn't the only one here!" said someone behind him. Fred and George walked up, Fred was holding a bottle of wine in his hand and nodded at Harry as he filled their three almost empty goblets.

"Thanks, Fred," said Harry, watching his glass replenish. "What do you mean, Kreacher isn't the only one here?"

"Dobby is here too!" said George, rocking back and forth on his heels, grinning.

Harry's face lit up. "No way! Happy Birthday to me!" Everyone laughed. "Come on, let's get something to eat!" He led the way to the beginning of the feast's buffet line, where several other people had already begun dishing up food. He got into line behind Luna, who was standing next to a very eccentric looking wizard.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" said Luna, in her usual dreamy, sing song voice. "Have you met my father yet?" She turned and tugged on the man's shirt standing beside her, he turned and his face brightened as he saw Harry. He extended a hand and Harry shook it.

"Xenophilius Lovegood!" he said, loudly. His voice was high and kind of squeaky, but Harry reckoned he would have been able to point him out as Luna's father even if she hadn't first. He was wearing a long, foreign looking orange shirt that magnificently accented his deep brown hair, whiffs of grey streaked around his ears. The shirt, which resembled a tunic, had white ruffles at the ends of the sleeves which tickled Harry's hand when they shook. "It is so wonderful to finally meet you! Luna has told me so much about you and your friends."

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, smiling as he felt Ron snicker behind his back. The man was nice, enough, but there was still something a bit off about him, in the same way there was something off about Luna. Not in a bad way, of course, but in a way that made Harry believe they were so helplessly lost in their own beliefs and customs that any criticisms or suggestions would only empower them further. "I'm so glad you both came!" Harry added, taking a plate after Hermione.

"Oh, of course we came, Harry," said Luna, her eyes twinkling. "It would have been rude, otherwise. And I've never been to a party like this, I do love celebrating birthdays. It's like adding a flower to a bouquet." Harry smiled pleasantly until Luna turned back to her father and said something about the selection of fruit, and then began heaping food onto his own plate.

"This was such a good idea," whispered Hermione. "Having a buffet instead of a sit down meal, I mean, so everyone can talk and mingle. I always feel so constricted at a table with this many people."

Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. Ginny had just walked into the room, wearing a soft blue blouse. Her hair hung just slightly in front of her face and down her back, jumping with every step she took, conforming to her walk. Harry watched her greet Seamus Finnigan, who had just entered through another door with Lee Jordan, and jump into the line almost heading into the kitchen.

"Harry?" Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. "Harry?"

Harry shook his head and looked at her, feeling embarrassed and guilty. "What?" he said sharply.

She looked kind of hurt, her eyes flickered towards Ginny, but dismissed it. "I asked you something, sorry." She turned away, picking up her glass that she'd set down as she needed two hands to dish up some of the food items. Quickly, she walked from the room without continuing down the line.

"Hermione?" he said, weakly, almost confused.

"What did you do?" asked Ron, leaning in and watching the point Hermione had disappeared. "I'd watch it, she might use that love potion sooner than you'd realize."

Harry laughed, but something uncomfortable turned over in his stomach. He had an odd feeling that though Hermione found his gift amusing she'd never actually use it. After thinking it through all day, he knew that Hermione would never want to artificially create an emotion in him just to make him sharpen his focus. Had she noticed who he was looking at? He felt sickened at the thought. He wouldn't let himself go down that road, that unloyal boyfriend road. He wasn't that person and he really didn't want to be. He loved Hermione.

"You going to move, birthday boy?" asked Fred, standing behind Ron.

"Yeah, we're a bit hungry too, your majesty," said George, in a holier-than-thou voice, behind Fred.

"Oh!" said Harry, snapping out of his reverie. "Sorry." He continued moving down the line.

Harry and Ron drifted into the living room with their dinner plates. Harry thought that Hermione stayed in there to eat, but she wasn't and he felt even worse as they took up two spots on the couch. They were joined very shortly by Fred, George, Lee, and Seamus. Hermione drifted to the back of his mind as the twin's all too notorious jokes took over and within minutes they were all laughing so hard their sides hurt and food seemed to spill out of everywhere.

When Fred and George went back for some more food, and the laughter died away, Ron dived into talking about his mysterious statue, which Seamus and Lee found only marginally intriguing.

"It's quite something, very old," said Ron, taking a bite of turkey. "Hermione seems almost positive its some bloke called Grevious Dephong, but I don't remember what he's famous for."

"Does it do anything?" asked Seamus.

"Well, if you get your face too close, it sneezes this funny white powder all over you," said Ron, grinning. "But I haven't been able to try any magic on it yet."

"I bet your brothers would help you out if you're anxious!" said Lee.

Ron snorted. "I'm not that anxious. Hell, no. I found the damn thing I get to prod it." They all laughed. Ginny joined them at that moment. "I wondered where you got off to," said Ron, through a mouthful of a variety of foods. Ginny gave him a reproachful look and he quickly chewed and swallowed.

"I was talking to Lupin," she said, plopping down in Fred's vacated chair. "He was telling me about Horace Slughorn, the new Potions teacher Dumbledore recruited."

"Oh yeah, I heard about him," said Seamus, smirking. "I heard the ministry is full of 'ol Sluggies favorites, at least that's what my mum told me."

Ginny's eyes widened as she nodded. "He apparently gathers up a group of students each year to join the Slug Club, all his favorites, anyone connected to anyone famous or worth two nickels rubbed together." She winked at Harry, who felt his stomach flip flop. "Suppose we'll get in just for knowing you?"

"I will get in obviously," said Ron, leaning back on the couch next to Harry and pretending to polish an apple on his shirt. "I mean, I am his best friend."

"Slughorn doesn't know you," Ginny said, her eyes narrowing on him sadistically. "If anyone is going to get in it's Hermione. Not only is she brilliant, but more people know her as Harry's girlfriend than you as his best friend." She didn't look at Harry, but determinedly kept her focus on Ron.

Ron's face fell. "Ah, well, you can't win 'em all," said Ron, poking at the remainder of his mashed potatoes.

"Cheer up, Ron," said Harry nudging him in the side. "He'll know you're my best friend before long, we do everything together." He turned to Ginny. "Speaking of Hermione, have you seen her? She kind of just disappeared."

Ginny nodded. "She was in the kitchen, last I saw, talking to Tonks."

"Alright. I'll be right back," he said, getting to his feet and setting his plate on the table in front of him. He brought his goblet of wine with him and sipped from it, feeling the wonderful surge of sharp taste cascade down his throat and electrify his entire system. It was a wonderful feeling. He shook a couple hands on his way to the kitchen, but kept himself determinedly pointed straight ahead so no one would stop him. He saw Fred and George talking to Bill and Fleur, none of which saw him.

He slipped past Mr. Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt, chatting in low voices near the kitchen's entrance, and was about to open the door to the kitchen when he heard someone talking in a hushed tone just behind the door. He would have continued on in, if it hadn't been for the mentioning of his own name, and he plastered himself against the wall, too numb to make a move in or away. He felt, vaguely, as he had the night of the Yule Ball when he and Ron overheard Hagrid talking to Madame Maxime; but somehow the feeling was worse, because the person speaking was Hermione.

"…won't admit it and I guess I won't really either. I know he's having reservations, but I think he feels…trapped," Hermione was saying, her voice low.

"Trapped? How so?" asked the other voice, equally low, but Harry recognized it as Tonks'. Harry might have not been able to hear them if the door hadn't been slightly ajar. He could see one of their shadows, unmoving.

"We're such good friends, we've known each other for nearly six years, and our relationship started off very peculiarly. At the time it felt right, and it's not like I regret it," said Hermione, "but I think we both care about each other and are too concerned about each other to actually admit that it won't work out in the end. It's barely working right now."

"Are you afraid that if you drag it out you will end up despising each other?" asked Tonks.

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "We've always got along so well, so much better than Ron and I ever have." She paused. "I do know, though, that he hasn't looked at me the way he looks at her for a long time."

"Does that make you feel jealous?" asked Tonks, her voice sounding more concerned now.

"That's just it," said Hermione, her tone sharpening. "I can't tell if I'm jealous just because he's supposed to be my boyfriend or if I want him to look at me that way again. She certainly doesn't do anything to stop it, though I don't really blame her."

"No one can," sighed Tonks. "Thing is, we're always prone to think that way. I know for a fact that Remus had been in love with Lily for most of the time James had, though he never let on or pursued it. I think it haunts him sometimes, the idea of her, I mean."

"Remus was in love with Harry's mother?" asked Hermione, her voice sounding shocked.

"Yes," said Tonks, simply. "I asked him about it and he didn't deny it, but he said that he would never tell Harry, or Sirius. I think Sirius knows though." She sighed. "I know I can't compete with the dead, but I do feel that Lupin and I have a genuine connection."

"You two are so adorable together," said Hermione, her tone changing dramatically. "I've never seen him look younger."

"He is quite something else," said Tonks with a little laugh. "I'm not worried, though, he says he loves me and I believe him. Why shouldn't I?"

"Harry says he loves me, too," said Hermione, "and I believe him, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's in love with me, does it?"

"I guess," said Tonks, sounding as though she was pondering, "I guess I would ask you then, are you in love with him? If you are, then you've got to make a choice, obviously, whether you want to keep him in the relationship as long as possible until he breaks up with you or if you want to let him go sooner so as to spare your friendship." Hermione didn't say anything and after a moment, Tonks went on. "On the other hand, if you're not in love with him, then you both have some serious talking to do, maybe kicking him in the right direction, setting him free."

"You mean just flat out tell him, 'Harry, I know you're in love with—'" Hermione was cut off by the other door of the kitchen opening and a loud laugh reverberating through the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry, ladies," said Sirius, awkwardly, "I was only looking for Harry. We're going to sing and cut the cake."

"He was out in the living room, last I saw, Sirius," said Hermione.

"They all said he'd come looking for you!" said Sirius, suspiciously. "He hasn't been in here, then?"

"No," Hermione replied, her voice sounded almost scared, as though she knew or had a feeling Harry was listening to her conversation.

Harry felt repulsed by his own decision to stay and listen and frantically felt around for some sort of crevice to hide in or door to slip into. There was nothing. He saw the shadows move towards the door he was peeled next too and quickly tried to calm down his heart, told himself to act casually, and stepped away from the door so as to look like he'd just walked up. For good measure, he slid over next to the corner where Mr. Weasley's back was and walked forward from there. The very next moment, Hermione walked through the door, looking ghostly white, followed by Tonks and Sirius.

"Ah, there you are, Harry!" said Sirius, smiling. "Ready for some cake?"

"Yes," said Harry, looking at Hermione. "I had just come to find you but I needed to use the restroom," he said, shrugging towards the stairs. A bit of color seemed to return to Hermione's face, and he latched onto the expression he'd formed.

"It's alright," she said, her voice low and beaded. Tonks shot him a suspicious look, but he smiled at her and it faded. He took Hermione's hand, hoping she couldn't tell it was sweaty with nerves, and followed Sirius back to the dining room where his large chocolate cake sat in the center of the table, now completely devoid of the feast. Looking down he saw that Dobby had just placed it on the table.

"Dobby!" said Harry, happily.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squealed. "Dobby was so honored when he heard he'd been invited to Harry Potter's birthday party! So honored, sir."

"Why are you helping Kreacher, then, if you were invited as a guest?" asked Harry.

"Oh, sir, Dobby couldn't possibly make one elf serve all these people by himself. Dobby asked to help Kreacher in the kitchen and Mister Sirius said that Dobby could do whatever he wanted!" Dobby's ears stood up straight and his big eyes widened with excitement. "Dobby was most excited to be at Harry Potter's house, again."

Harry snickered. "Yes, but this time you aren't about to drop a cake in the middle of the kitchen and get me in trouble with the ministry, are you?" he said pointedly.

If Dobby could blush, Harry knew the small elf's face would have been scarlet, but he merely looked sheepish and his eyes sagged a little. "Harry Potter knows Dobby was just trying to help," the elf said, quietly.

Harry's eyes widened and he knew Dobby had taken his comment the wrong way. "Oh, no, Dobby, I was only joking." He laughed, and a couple people around him laughed too. "I know you only meant well, Dobby." He nodded at the cake. "And that does look delicious."

"I bet it tastes even better," said Fred from across the room, his and George's arms were folded identically."

"He means," said George, "let's sing already and get a slice!"

Harry couldn't sleep that night. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes he saw Hermione crying and Tonks standing beside her, glaring and him and saying, "What do you know about love, Harry?"

What did he know about love? He had grown up in a household that hated everything from his untidy hair to his parents. At Hogwarts, and elsewhere in the greeting world, he'd been accepted as a celebrity, but that hardly meant love. No one truly knew him, truly knew the pain of growing up without parents, being treated with neglect and cruelty, and having the most evil of all dark lords seeking his destruction for the sole purpose of fulfilling a prophecy.

Ron's family had shown him love. Immediately upon meeting him, Ron had shown amazement and wonder, but within a fortnight, the novelty had passed and they had quickly become like brothers. Mrs. Weasley had even said, last year, that he, Harry, was as good as a son, and that had been truly touching.

Then there was Sirius. His father's best friend. His godfather. A man who had suffered Azkaban because he'd felt guilty for trading places with the man who had led Voldemort to Harry's parents, among other reasons, of course. His toast tonight had only increased Harry's affection for him and he could remember that feeling of Sirius' gaze that made him feel as though a parent was shedding all of his pride and love upon him. It had been powerful. That was love, was it not?

Dumbledore said that he was full of love, that his mother's sacrifice had given him the utmost protection, which invariably caused Lord Voldemort's exile for ten years. Perhaps it was love that allowed him to face all this dark magic and not become enveloped by it, to be intrigued by it. It was clear that Voldemort hadn't loved a day in his life, for if he had, killing innocent people would not be on his itinerary.

Harry's mind reeled for a moment and he was lost in the contemplation of his lack of interest in the dark arts. It was true he hadn't ever considered that Voldemort was right in ciphering off the muggle-borns from the pure bloods, mostly because it seemed preposterous that magic could vary from person to person, especially when he compared Hermione to most of the pure bloods. He had never considered that joining Voldemort's cause would end suffering, because of course it would increase oppression. It gave him burgeoning of hope for himself that he knew better than to join the dark side.

But how could that hope be translated into love?

"Harry?" his door creaked and swung open a couple inches. A silhouette of brown, bushy hair poked through the small stream of light coming from the hallway.

He sat up and squinted, knowing it was Hermione. He put on his glasses. "Hermione, come in." She slipped through the door and shut it softly behind her, then hurried to Harry's bed and sat timidly at his feet. He watched her, numbly, every droplet of blood seeming to pulsate a little faster beneath his skin. His mouth was dry and for some reason he feared this confrontation above anything else.

"Were you asleep?" she whispered. Harry could barely see her, she was leaning against the post, her arms wrapped around her knees tucked in closely to her chest.

"No, no," he said, repositioning himself on the bed. He handed her a pillow, which she accepted and stuck behind her back, then immediately returned to her position.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

"Of course…" he said, his hoarse throat catching as the words were halfway out. She didn't say anything for a couple moments, and he gave her time to collect her words, not wishing to hasten what he feared would come.

"There's really no easy way to talk about this," she said, her voice low and uneven. It took her another couple seconds to continue. "Harry, the thing is…I love you, you know that…and I know you love me…" her breath caught in her throat and he thought he saw something glisten on her cheek, "but to be frank, I don't think we are in love..."

A brief image crossed over his eyes, of Hermione's face hidden beneath his arms that night oh so long ago, frightened of the thunderstorm. Then of her shallow breath and the feel of her lips.

"…Our friendship is so strong that it allowed us to repair all of the problems we've had…more because we're too concerned about each other than, really, the future of our relationship…"

Crammed behind statues, stealing kisses under the cloak. Concealing a secret so gripping it nearly tore them away from Ron forever, it nearly gave Voldemort all the ammunition he needed to bring Hogwarts to its knees.

"…You are such an amazing person, but I know that I am not your destiny and…nor are you mine…"

Curled beneath the shade of the oak tree in her backyard, on the blanket, with fruit and sugar free drinks surrounding them. Creeping late at night into each other's bedrooms just to steal a few more kisses before they fell asleep, carelessly drifting to sleep in one another's arms and sneaking back into their respective bedrooms before her parents awoke. Her look of passion as he greeted her in the morning over tea after her parents left for work, her wide brown eyes smiling before her mouth when he walked into the room.

"…and I just don't know how to go on, when I know you're unhappy and I can't fill that place in your life anymore, no matter how much I want to. I need you in my life, Harry, I love you so much, but the more I look ahead, the less certain I become of everything, the less certain I become of our future." She had scooted closer to him, now, the slit of moonlight streaming in from the window revealed a diagonal strip of her face. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her lip quivered.

He reached out, his hands shaking and cold, and took her hand, feeling a strange sensation in his temples, a noise that drowned out his thoughts and whirred like the spinning of cogs. He responded to his touch and grasped his hand, hers were warm and almost sweaty. With the smallest of tugs on her hand, he pulled her in close and she fell onto his chest heaving the smallest, quietest of sobs she'd ever shed. He stroked her hair, smelling the lavender shampoo that was all too familiar, that reminded him of her falling asleep on his chest in the weeks after the battle at Hogwarts.

"I love you, too, Hermione…" Harry whispered, and he lay backward onto his pillow, still holding Hermione in his arms, but now in a much different way than he had ever done before. "And I am so sorry…"

"Oh, Harry…" she said, her soft sobs breaking, and he heard her overwhelming and endearing understanding shine above her sadness, "we can't control who we fall in love with."


	8. Familiar Lips

August passed by more quickly than anyone could have bargained, though when Harry really thought about it, he was quite glad it had gone by so fast. Going back to school was something he'd been counting on ever since the events following his birthday party. In many strange ways, things didn't feel like they had changed at all between he and Hermione; they were trying for civility. But when they sat across from each other at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and their eyes connected, something seemed to have left their relationship, left a cold bout of air dangling in between them and no matter how Harry attempted to rearrange his thoughts, it would not go away.

Neither had mentioned their breakup until several days after it actually happened. Hermione felt really guilty for doing it on Harry's birthday and insisted they keep it quiet. When he told Ron, not only was his best friend stunned, he seemed a little disappointed.

"Is this about something that happened at your party? When she got mad at you?" he had asked, sticking his hand out to stop Harry leaving his bedroom.

Harry had halted in his steps, trying to remember the instance Ron was referring to. Then he remembered, Ginny had just entered the room and his eyes had veered away from Hermione to watch Ginny move, watch her hair flow like tiny waves down her back.

"Of course not," he said, calmly. "I told you when you got here we've been on ice all summer."

Ron's reaction seemed to change, and he looked less disappointed. His look changed to concern. "You're alright, are you?"

"I'll…be fine…" Harry said, which was mostly true. He would be fine, in due time, but for now the guilty feelings that haunted him were enough to keep him from sleeping. He felt lonely without Hermione, without that security their relationship had held for him for so long. It all seemed brutally wrenched from him now, even if he didn't blame her for breaking up with him. When it came down to it, he didn't feel like he still had Hermione in his life, though they were doing their best to be friends. At this point in time it seemed they could not as much go back to the way things were as look forward to a friendship similar to the one they had shared before getting together.

Harry wondered, sometimes, if their friendship had deepened as a result of their romantic involvement, or if it had only distracted them from everything around. Harry felt as though he noticed a lot more around the house after his and Hermione's split, neither in a good nor bad way, just simply in a way that the portion of his mind that had been previously paying attention to Hermione and the strain their relationship was causing him was now paying attention to everything else.

He noticed that Sirius had acquired a new necklace. It was gold and had a locket with a small decoration Harry could never see properly. The locket itself was nearly the size of a small egg, but every time Harry tried to look more closely at it, Sirius seemed to tuck it behind his shirt. It had made Sirius grumpy and irritable. He spent more and more time in his room.

But that was a very small fraction of the time, he was usually in a good mood, laughing and joking, making the house lively and eventful. Harry had chosen to tell Sirius about his and Hermione's break up the morning after it had happened. He was understanding, of course, but there was something behind what he had said that made Harry slightly uneasy.

"It's a fact of life that we learn to love by losing someone," he said, his eyes shifting to something out of the window. He and Harry were the first ones to the breakfast table that morning, and Harry had told the story over his eggs and bacon, which he didn't really eat. "…Not to say that we don't know how to love in the first place, but you know the expression, 'We truly know love after we've lost it.'"

But as Harry stepped onto the Hogwarts Express on September first, he tried to focus on the day ahead. A new batch of students were coming to Hogwarts and he would get to see a lot of people he hadn't all summer, apart from Seamus Finnigan whom he had been delighted to find invited to his birthday party. He was amazed to see how far Seamus had come over the summer after the death of his best friend, Dean Thomas. He, like Ron, had done some growing, in more ways than vertically.

After Ron and Hermione climbed up behind him, he became instantly aware of something that had completely escaped him: they were prefects and would not be immediately joining him in a compartment. They seemed to sense his awareness and shuffled their feet awkwardly, Hermione's eyes darted from Harry's to Ginny's, and then finally to Ron.

"See you in a bit," said Harry, trying to brush it off and act nonchalant. "We'll save you a spot." He nodded, grinning slightly, and then catching Hermione's eye. Something passed between them, he couldn't quite tell what it was. She smiled at him and he felt goosebumps erupt on the back of his neck.

He watched them walk down the corridor towards the prefect carriage somewhat sadly. The trip to Hogwarts the previous year had just not been the same without them. Then again, that was him thinking selfishly. They, of course, had a duty to perform and it was neither his wish to stand in the way nor complain that he had not been appointed. He was far beyond that.

He felt a small tug on his sleeve and he turned to see Ginny, whom he'd briefly forgotten was there. "Come on, Harry, let's go find a compartment," she said softly, turning from him and leading the way down the corridor, opposite the direction of Ron and Hermione. Harry took one last look at their receding figures, and followed Ginny.

As they passed carriages, his fellow classmates stared shamelessly and flew out of their compartments to get a closer look at him. Some didn't even bother to hide their whispers.

"That's Harry Potter," whispered one girl, giving Harry a glowing look while speaking to her friend. She couldn't have been more than a fourth year.

"Is that his girlfriend? I heard he has a girlfriend," said her friend.

"I don't know, I don't think so…"

Harry grumbled inaudibly behind Ginny, who chuckled only loud enough for Harry to hear. Girls were giggling and waving all around him, shyly or outright. Most turned beat red when he turned their way to catch them in mid giggle. He felt extremely uncomfortable, especially since he no longer had Hermione to hide behind. That was one part of their relationship he knew he was going to miss. She had always been so good at telling him to ignore everyone, and she would grasp his hand in her warm, soft one, and lead him away.

"Hey, Harry!" Seamus Finnigan poked his head out of a compartment he'd just passed, having been too distracted by a couple first year girls pressing their noses against the glass opposite. "How've you been?"

"Alright," Harry said, untruthfully, but he grinned anyway. Even though he didn't exactly feel alright, the sight of Seamus had cheered him up somewhat. "Thanks for firecrackers, by the way. We used them just last week."

Seamus laughed and scratched his head. "Yeah, be sure not to mention that around me mum," he said, his cheeks going pink, "not too sure she would approve of, uh, how I got them, you know."

Harry's smile broadened and he mimed zipping his lips. "See you at the feast, then?" he said, raising an eyebrow and beginning to walk backward.

"Yes," said Seamus. "See you," he gave a wave and ducked back inside his compartment.

He turned to keep following Ginny but nearly barreled her over. She had stopped to look in a nearby compartment and stumbled backward at the force of Harry's body. He grabbed the first part of her he could to keep her from falling over, which happened to be her waist.

"Oh, sorry, Ginny…" he mumbled, embarrassed. She caught her balance and Harry drew his hands away quickly.

"It's alright," she said, looking up at him with an odd, unidentifiable expression. They stared at each other for a moment. Ginny broke the gaze by nodding towards the compartment she'd stopped in front of. "Neville and Luna are in here," said Ginny, quietly.

Harry cleared his throat and forced himself to peel his eyes away from her deep brown ones. "P-perfect," he said, opening the door for her and allowing her to walk inside first.

"Hi Luna. Hi Neville," said Ginny, smiling brightly. She sat down next to Luna as Harry sat across from her, next to Neville. Harry hardly glanced at Neville before slumping down into his seat.

Luna had been rummaging through her handbag, but looked up at the sound of Ginny's voice. "Oh, hello, you two," she said dreamily, a smile overtaking her whole face. "I'm so glad you found us."

Harry grunted and slouched down further in his seat. Ginny gave him an exasperated look. "The Chosen One isn't too fond of the attention he's receiving," she said, eyeing Harry with amusement. Harry looked at her and raised an eyebrow, somewhat shocked she'd been able to pinpoint his frustration so quickly and easily.

"The Chosen One," said Neville, his voice oddly calm. "There was so much about you in the Daily Prophet this summer I thought they were going to rename it the Daily Harry, or something." Luna laughed and Harry grinned in spite of himself. He looked over at Neville and almost slipped on his seat from shock.

Immediately he noticed a distinctive change in the boy. Already the tallest boy in their year, standing even an inch or two above Ron, Neville always had pudgy cheeks and a round face. But even in his lax position on the seat Harry could tell Neville looked longer. His face had evened out and his jaw line more defined. Looking more closely, he could tell the boy looked thinner, and muscles poked out of his tight sweatshirt.

What was more, Neville sat nonchalantly against the window, one leg curled under him and the other hanging loosely off the bench. He was turning his wand over in his hand, smiling broadly down at Harry. Harry thought that he possessed an air, if he was not mistaken, of confidence.

"I've never been too fond of nicknames," grumbled Harry, "but I seem to get them more than anyone else."

"The Boy Who Lived," said a still giggling Luna.

"Scar head," said Ginny, her hands clutching her stomach from the pain of laughing.

"Excuse me?" said Harry, sitting up straight to stare at Ginny, completely abashed. "You use a name given to me by Draco Malfoy?" Ginny tried to stop laughing, but it just caused her face to turn red and burst into further fits of laughter.

"Scar head?" Neville asked, beginning to laugh himself. "I think I would have gone with scarface!" Any hope Harry had of his three companions to quit laughing was lost with Neville's words. Harry folded his arms, smiling defiantly, and watched as Ginny, Luna, and Neville very slowly regained composure.

"Come on Harry," Ginny said, still smiling her eyes still laughing, "you've got to be able to laugh, otherwise you're going to be miserable all year long."

Harry considered her. "You think there's something funny about being marked for death?" he gazed at her calmly, but his voice was even and stern. His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, then drifted across Luna and Neville. They all fell silent immediately, now looking uncomfortable.

"I was referring to all the Prophet has been saying about you," said Ginny, very softly. "I would never consider the prophecy to be joke material." Harry's eyes locked onto her again. He could tell by her sincerity that she could sense his own reality, but it didn't shake the fact that, once again, no one seemed to really understand the kind of pressure he was under, the spotlight the ministry and Voldemort had lain on him.

In an equally calm tone, Harry replied. "I know you lot mean well and try to put an alternative spin on the absurd speculations by the prophet, but I'm just not ready to joke about it yet." He kept his gaze on Ginny, who's own softened with understanding. "Someday, perhaps. But right now the wound is too fresh and the realities too…real…" He tried not to reveal that he was referring to Mrs. Weasley, and he quickly broke their gaze to look at Neville. "You do understand, don't you?"

"Of course, Harry," said Neville, his expression grim. "We only thought…"

Harry shook his head. "I know what you thought, and I'd probably think the same thing." He half-heartedly wanted to add something about all the information Dumbledore had revealed to him, but decided that was best kept to himself.

A long, slightly uncomfortable silence drifted among the small group. No one really looked at each other, though Harry could feel Ginny's gaze penetrating the side of his head as he looked out the window.

"Kreacher is something else, isn't he?" said Ginny finally.

"Who's Kreacher?" asked Neville, sounding glad someone had said something.

Harry looked at him. "Sirius's house elf," he said, smirking.

"What's wrong with him?" Neville pressed.

Harry laughed. "Well, ironically, absolutely nothing."

"He used to be this old pathetic thing that mumbled curses under his breath as we passed," said Ginny, scrunching up her nose, remembering the awful elf as he had ince been at Grimmauld Place. "He was all high and mighty on Sirius's mother, proud of the pure-blood status of the Black family. He wouldn't clean anything and everyone hated him."

"But now," said Harry, grinning, "he's practically in love with Sirius and has his place spotless all the time. Not to mention the food has increased in quantity and quality about ten fold. He never did a damn at his old place, but now…It's quite spectacular."

"The Black Family…" said Luna, "I remember my father talking about Mrs. Black once, they had run into each other at a shop in Diagon Alley. She didn't know him but he recognized her immediately. She was dragging a young boy along, several years younger than himself at the time, and muttering something about nonsensical Muggle-borns."

"That sounds about right," said Harry grimly. "Her portrait hung on the main floor of his old place and would fly open if anyone was too loud. She would scream horrifically, stuff like 'Mudbloods! Blood traitors! Tarnishing the house of my fathers!' And Kreacher, similarly, would mutter stuff like," Harry lowered his voice to resemble that of Kreacher's low, scratchy voice, "'What would my mistress say if she could see old Kreacher now? Oh, poor Kreacher, forced to serve her no good son…'"

Neville and Luna shook their heads, amused, but not daring to laugh. They were all too familiar with what the pure-bloods would do to wipe out the Muggle-borns. The issue was serious, but it was still, Harry admitted, so absurd that his only reaction was to chuckle.

"The article in the Prophet about Sirius's innocence was so perfect," said Ginny, changing subjects again. "He was so much fun at your house. I'm so glad he's finally free and doesn't have to follow you around as a dog anymore."

Harry laughed. "So is he. Did you notice that nearly every morning he goes outside just to stand in the fresh air? Like he's taunting someone to curse him?" Ginny laughed, her eyes searched Harry interestedly. He watched her for a moment, the way her shoulders curved inward with every giggle, the way her jaw locked while trying to suppress more. Their eyes locked and something passed between them, Harry felt a hollow ache pulse through his heart.

Startling both of them, the compartment door slid open and Hermione slipped inside. She looked torn between amusement and shock, but took a seat next to Harry, just far enough away so that their arms would not touch. He noticed this, but thought it was to be expected now.

"Hello Luna, Neville," she said, her voice uneven. She glanced out the door again, and seemed to laugh.

"Where's Ron?" asked Harry.

She looked back at him and gave him an exasperated look. "Look for yourself…" she nodded out the door. Harry looked from her to the door, then stood up, approaching it apprehensively.

He slid open the door and glanced out. About two compartments down, Ron had his arms wrapped around a very pretty blonde girl, she was pressed between him and the wall. They were intertwined so closely that Harry couldn't see either of their hands. Quickly he pulled his head back into his own compartment and shut the door quietly. Sniggering, he sat back down as Ginny, Luna, and Neville imitated him and looked out the door.

"Well," said Harry, a renewed grin settling on his face as the other three took their seats again, looking confused. "This is going to be an interesting year." Neville snickered, as did Luna, but Ginny looked disgusted.

"I think I could have gone, oh, the rest of my life without seeing that," she said, shooting a hard look at Harry. Everyone laughed and Harry held up his hands in surrender.

"Who's that he's snogging?" asked Neville, once their laughs died down.

"Emma Gold," said Harry. "She's a seventh year Slytherin. Didn't you see them talking the last two weeks of term? She's had a thing for him for a while."

Luna and Neville's faces turned to stone as they held Harry in their gaze, apparently taken aback by the news Emma was a Slytherin.

"She's alright, actually," said Hermione quickly. "We spent some time together last year and I was quite shocked at how anti-Slytherin she is." Luna and Neville still looked apprehensive. Before they could express any concerns or ask any questions, the door opened and Ron appeared, leading Emma by the hand into the compartment. His hair was disheveled and his shirt a little crooked, but he appeared not to care. They sat down next to Ginny, who scooted closer to Luna.

"Hello Hermione, Harry," Emma beamed, her fingers still closely intertwined with Ron's. "How are you?"

Harry grinned back at her. "Excellent. How about you?"

"Not bad," she said, glancing at Ron with a smile. Ron looked dazedly back at her, a bit sheepishly. Harry couldn't ever remember seeing that look on his face before, and his heart raced with amusement.

"Emma, this is Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom," said Harry, pointing to Luna and Neville.

She smiled at them. "Hi, I'm Emma Gold," she extended her hand and Neville shook it, then Luna. Their apprehension seemed to have disappeared, but they still looked shocked.

"Nice to meet you," said Neville, watching her closely. Harry wondered if Neville found her attractive.

There was a loud shuffling at the compartment door and all heads turned to look. Three or four girls were standing there, pushing each other in their attempt to be unnoticed as they peered in. When they saw everyone looking at them, they jumped away from the door and burst into giggles.

Hermione coughed softly and turned from the door.

"It will die down," said Harry, talking mostly to Hermione, though he didn't know why.

"I kind of doubt it, Harry," said Neville, smirking boyishly. "Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? And that you've fought off Voldemort again, making it, what, the fifth time? I reckon these girls are going to create a fan club for you."

Emma giggled. "I've heard rumors of such things," she said, glancing towards the glass. "I might recommend reemphasizing the fact you have a girlfriend. It wouldn't hurt."

An awkward silence drifted into the room. Only Ron and Ginny knew that Hermione and Harry were no longer together, and they both looked at their feet, making something stir between them that made them look oddly alike.

"What the hell," said Harry, gruffily, standing to his feet. He grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her to her feet. She looked taken aback, almost scared.

"Wha-what are you doing, Harry?" she asked, too shocked to pull her arm back. He led her out into the corridor and the girls scattered into nearby compartments as Harry and Hermione emerged.

He pushed her gently against the wall and looked seriously into her eyes. "We did it when we weren't together before," he whispered, leaning in close to her, "and no one knows yet…you know, that we've broken up."

"But Harry, this just isn't right," she said, her breathing deepening, "we can't, I mean, there are so many things to consider…"

"What? That we're not still friends?" he asked, his face so close to hers he could feel her warm breath on his skin.

"This doesn't feel like friendship…" she whispered. Her lips grazed his cheek and her hands responded to his as he interlocked his fingers through hers.

"Tell me to stop…" he said, waiting a moment. Her breath caught in her throat and then she leaned forward and caught his lips in hers and he pressed his body against her. He felt her hands leave his and move up his back and wrap around his neck, scratching softly into his scalp, just above his hairline. They moved roughly through his already untidy hair. He moved his hands down her back to her waist, feeling the curve of her body, and pulled her closer to him, simultaneously pressing her hard against the wall.

Hermione smiled into the kiss, and he responded by deepening it, his tongue moving across her teeth, causing her fingertips to momentarily dig deeper into his scalp. The smile on her face faded into the kiss and they both quickly forgot both their reasons for breaking up and why they were out in the hallway in the first place. For those precious moments her body, her lips were all that mattered.


	9. Time To Talk

Only when Dumbledore stood up and stretched out his arms did the noise in the Great Hall come to a spiraling halt. One by one, down the long house tables, every Hogwarts student told their friends to shush, beginning at the end of the table nearest the staff and continuing down the line until silence fell like a blanket.

Harry pulled his head away from Hermione's ear. "I'll tell you later," he whispered.

She giggled softly and her cheeks turned pink. Sitting up straight, she redirected her attention to Dumbledore, but Harry kept his eyes on the back of Hermione's head. He was feeling something he hadn't felt since last school year, that piece of him that was so into Hermione, that wanted her as much as ever before.

He caught Ron's eye across the table. Ron winked at him and Harry grinned.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone," Dumbledore said, his voice grave and solemn. "Despite everything that has happened over the last four months, it is truly wonderful to see you all back here this evening, safe and eager to continue learning in our quest to battle evil and promote the peaceful coexistence of the wider wizarding world." He paused, soaking in the whole massive body of students at once.

Harry sat up a little straighter, memories flooding his head and remembering the truly awful current state of the world outside of Hogwarts castle. Comforting as it was to see Dumbledore on the platform addressing the students, Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of unease crowd his stomach as his mind drifted to the students who would not be joining them this year.

"Inside the walls of this castle, the people whom we love and whom we've lost have not vanished from our minds," Dumbledore went on. "Our dedication to what we believe should have intensified over our time apart, and the fierce devotion to those whom are not present with us today will be the fire under us that spurs us on even when it seems like the material being taught is worthless." He sighed in deeply. "With that, I want to welcome the new students joining us this year," he stretched out his arms as the doors to the Great Hall opened and Professor McGonagall led the new, somewhat small batch of students down the center of the tables.

Hermione turned to face Harry as Professor McGonagall began her introductory speech, presenting the sorting hat, and beginning with Anderson, Kevin, a small blonde boy who tripped up the stairs as he rushed to the stool to put on the hat.

"Dumbledore is always so good at presenting an air of comfort," she whispered.

Harry nodded. "I know. He has a way of making every person's death seem worthwhile, or, in the very least, purposeful." He slid his hand under the table to grasp hers. She gave his hand a tight squeeze.

"He never addresses us before the new first years get sorted, though," Ron whispered from across the table.

Harry shrugged. "Special times call for special measures."

Hermione squeezed his hand again and he looked at her. She was looking at him with a fierce blaze, a look he recognized. It felt good to share it with her again. Her eyes seemed to tell him they'd found their way back to a familiar place.

They both reluctantly looked away from one another and watched as the rest of the first years were sorted into their houses. One after another, the small first years sat at the four respective tables until one last girl was left standing feebly in front of Professor McGonagall.

"Zimmerman, Hannah," said Professor McGonagall.

"She looks familiar," Ron whispered across the table, his eyes still locked on the little girl sitting on the stool with the enormous sorting hat on her head, dipping below her eyes.

"How you figure?" Ginny asked. Her eyes slid across Hermione and Harry as she turned to look at Ron.

"Look at her mouth, twitching. Who does that remind you of?"

Hermione turned to look at Harry, then at Ron, her mouth slightly agape. "You've got to be joking," Hermione said, here eyes wide. "Snape?"

Harry nearly jumped in his seat as the sorting hat called out, "Slytherin!" and Hannah ran to the gloomy Slytherin table. He looked across at Ron, who was trying to conceal a laugh.

"Wonder if she _knows_ who her father is?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione shuddered, and Ginny laughed. "Who in the hell would—"

"If I could have your attention for just a couple more minutes," Dumbledore said, raising a hand high into the air. "I need to make a couple introductions for our new staff." He moved his hand to the staff table and pointed to the two new faces sitting at the table. "Our new Potions master, Professor H. E. F. Slughorn." A tubby older man with a bushy mustache Harry thought rivaled his Uncle Vernon's stood and took a slight bow. His stomach was so enormous that it proved to be difficult. But his boisterous face was grinning and he held up a hand in a wave, then sat back down.

"And at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore continued, "Professor Gregory Numan." Professor Ashcroft stood. He was a younger man with a thick head of black hair that was combed backward. A thin smile broke on his face by the welcoming applause and he bowed courteously. He looked like a strict man, but Harry also felt that he possessed an air of security.

Hermione leaned backward. "You know, Sirius would have been really good as a Defense teacher."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, he would have. I wonder if Dumbledore asked him."

Hermione shook her head. "I doubt it. Why would Sirius pass up the opportunity to be around you more?"

Harry shrugged. "That's not entirely true. I'm having private lessons with Dumbledore, Sirius, and Lupin, remember?"

Hermione turned to look at him. "What?"

Harry felt confused. "Wait. I never told you? After the battle last spring when Dumbledore told me the whole story?" Harry shook his head. "Strange. But yeah, once a week, they're all going to, I dunno, give me lessons of some sort." When Hermione still didn't say anything, Harry bit his lip. "Huh. I guess I must have told Ron and thought I told you."

She stared at him and shook her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "This conversation will continue."

Dumbledore waited patiently until the noise died down and he held everyone's attention again. Harry refocused his attention.

"In other news, you are all aware of the heightened level of panic our world now endures and I ask of you not to put yourselves into situations that would jeopardize your life or the life of any of your schoolmates, teachers, or other staff. In these hardest and darkest of times, being safe is most important and most crucial. Study hard and learn the essentials to succeeding in a world that requires constant alertness. Don't let yourself fall asleep to the events occurring, learn to trust your friends, and most of, learn how to grow into that person that will bring about an effect on those around you."

Dumbledore bowed slightly before he sat back down. The great hall was filled with applause as food appeared in front of them. Harry smiled at the large bowls of mashed potatoes, roast beef, vegetables, and all his other favorite Hogwarts foods. He gathered them onto his plate and sighed into his first delicious bite.

Harry laid in bed thinking, long after Ron's snores had begun their background music to that evening's silence. He'd heard Seamus and Neville whispering for a while, but their noises had, too, died away some time ago. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he really care, even though he knew that it would be harder to go to classes the next day while trying to function on very little sleep.

There was too much to think about to go to sleep. This year was already going to be so different, with Snape being dead, Mrs. Weasley dead, Dean dead, and the whole wizarding world knowing that he and Dumbledore had been telling the truth all along. Now Sirius was out in the open too, his vindication perhaps the sweetest of all.

But what was really tugging on his mind right now was Hermione. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her there, standing quietly and digging the toe of her shoe into the ground. He'd been feeling something different all afternoon, a sort of guilty pleasure, that he felt so natural around her and so comfortable. He felt this burning desire to kiss her in a way he hadn't felt since very early into the summer holiday.

He thought that she felt similarly, at least, it seemed that way. Everything fell back into place after they kissed on the train, like they were crawling back to somewhere familiar.

Any plans he'd had or thought of with Ginny had been washed away. She still flitted in and out of his mind, but she seemed to be more of a way for him to escape the problems he'd been having with Hermione. Sure, they had gotten to know each other better through frequent letters, but he had something with Hermione that he could never have with Ginny. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but nonetheless knew wasn't worth pursuing something that could have happened when things with Hermione were going so well. What if he and Hermione could make it work? What if they never had to see other people?

He closed his eyes and saw Hermione again. This time she was standing quite still, and smiling, no longer shifting uncomfortably. He smiled.

"What? Can you see me?"

Harry's eyes shot open and he sat up. The whisper had come from his left and he looked and squinted through the darkness for the source of the voice. His bed dipped down and he saw the imprint of a knee.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

The hanging shut itself and Hermione took of his invisibility cloak.

"Surprise." She giggled and lifted up the covers to slide in with him.

"How did you get my cloak?" he asked, as quietly as possible. He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her in close, feeling that familiar sensation in his head that cause him to feel like he existed in a perfect moment whenever he could smell her hair and feel the soft curves of her body.

"I took it out of your pocket after dinner," she said. "It took forever for Pavarti to fall asleep tonight. She and Lavender kept asking me questions about you and me. I had to pretend to fall asleep in order for them to leave me alone."

"Lovely," Harry said with a grunt.

Silence drifted between them for a moment. Hermione shifted in his arms and dug her nose into his chest. He found himself absently running his fingers through her hair.

"Can we pretend that our breakup never…really happened?" Harry asked, finally.

Hermione leaned her head backward, on the pretense to look into his face, but it was so dark in the room that he could only make out the faintest outline of her head.

"Are you sure?" she said, sounding like she was holding back something.

"What do you mean, am I sure?" he said. "Would I ask you if I wasn't?"

"No, no. I just mean," Hermione said quickly, finding Harry's hand and interlocking her fingers with his. "I didn't come here tonight to get back together, you know, I just, I wanted to be somewhere familiar and it seems like I spent more nights here than I did in my own bed by the end of last year." She stopped. "Okay, that came out wrong."

Harry grunted. It almost sounded like she didn't want to get back together.

"Let me try again," she said, taking a deep breath. "Harry, you know I love you, and that I thought we should break up before because it seemed like you had feelings for—"

"Hermione, stop," he said. He had found her lips with his fingers and pressed them together. "We haven't spoken much in a while now and, well, I've had some time to think myself. I don't want to be broken up. I love you. I want things to work out between us. This summer was…I don't know, a test that we failed. But when we fail a test in school, we don't just give up." Hermione coughed softly. "Sorry," Harry corrected himself, "when _I_ fail a test, _I _don't just give up. I find a way to make it up, study extra hard so the next time I will pass."

Hermione was silent for only a couple seconds. "Since when did you become the relationship expert?"

Harry shrugged, then remembered she couldn't see him. "It isn't about relationships, it's about how I feel. I feel like I was being unfair to you, and I know you don't deserve that, but I also don't want to let you go."

"I think we are presented with something very unique, Harry," Hermione said, softly, her lips nearly touching his ear. "It's like Dumbledore said, we are in the darkest and most dangerous of times and we know what is important. We love each other, and maybe everything will fall into place if we just let it. Stop worrying about the dangers that lie before us in a relationship and focus on how to help you survive."

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered back. "Take it slow?"

Hermione laughed softly. "Yeah, we're really good at taking it slow." She paused. "I mean, take it easy. I mean, the worst thing that happens is we break up…again."

"You mean you want to get back together?"

"Yes, Harry. Of course I do." She moved and he let go of her hair. She knelt above him and then slid slowly onto his chest, her legs stretching down the length of his, and her hands walking down his arms until they curled in between his fingers.

He leaned up and kissed her, pulling her down with him to the pillow and forgetting about everyone and everything. Life was good. Life was really good.

When Harry awoke the next morning, Hermione was already gone. He double checked by feeling the mattress next to him, in case she'd hidden herself beneath the cloak. He sighed when all he felt was the sheet.

"Harry, are you awake?" Ron's voice called from beyond the curtains.

Harry reached for his glasses and whipped open his hangings. "Yeah, yeah." He yawned.

Ron stood still for a moment and stared at him. "Well, get moving! We've got to meet with McGonagall after breakfast before our first class." When Harry still sat and stretched, Ron clapped impatiently. "Come on, or I'm not going to wait for you."

Harry stood up. "Alright, calm down." He went to his trunk and began dressing, while Seamus and Neville called their goodbyes and left for breakfast. It was strange not to have Dean around the room any longer. Harry wondered how Seamus had dealt with the loss of his best friend over the summer. He'd seemed alright at Harry's birthday party. But Harry could imagine Ron not being around any more and knew it couldn't be easy on him.

When Harry was finally ready, Ron led the way out the door and down the staircase. Hermione and Ginny were sitting on the couches with a couple girls from Ginny's year and Katie Bell. Ron walked right past them and to the portrait hole.

All five girls stood up quickly and joined Harry, who shrugged and followed Ron, more slowly. Hermione snuck her hand into Harry's, and he gripped it back, casting her a smile.

"Is this what Ron is going to be like?" Ginny asked. "Now that he has a girlfriend, that is?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Harry mumbled. "He wasn't exactly a bundle full of joy this morning. If Emma was a Gryffindor, and not a Slytherin, he might have it a bit easier."

"Why do you think that?" Ginny asked.

"Think about it," Harry said, visualizing Hermione being in a different house than him. "He can't spend time with her in our common room and she has all different classes than him because she's a year older. The only time he will get to spend time with her is before and after meals and in the library, or the great hall for study sessions."

Ginny shrugged and glanced at one of her friends. "I'd prefer not to think about it, now that you've explained that much to me."

Harry smirked and glanced at Hermione. "Finally Ron is getting a little action, eh? Seems like he needs a girl to tether him down."

Hermione snorted. "Good luck. You lived with him for a while this summer, he has changed so much, I don't think a girl could tether him."

Ginny shuddered and slowed down so Harry and Hermione walked ahead of her. Katie Bell laughed, though, and kept in stride with Harry and Ginny's two friends fell back with Ginny.

"I think it is a very interesting match," Katie said, looking at Harry. They were nearly the same height. She was maybe a hair shorter than him, but very thin. "I've known Emma, of course, since my first year. She's brilliant, she really is. But with her I never could tell her loyalties. I mean, everyone knows her mother, or knew, but then there's her father. So, what can you really say? Without ever actually talking to the girl, I never knew that she was on _our_ side."

"What do you mean about her father?" Hermione asked.

"He abandoned the family when they were really young," Katie said, her eyes big and wide. "Left Emma and Alice with his mother because _their_ mother was all strung out. Not to mention in the company of He Who Must Not Must Be Named." She sighed and they all rounded the corner to the great hall. "It's so unfortunate that, above all, they had to be placed in Slytherin."

They walked through the main doors and there was Ron, conversing in goofy smiles with Emma nearest the Slytherin table. Her hand was toying with his robes and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"Remember what you told me last year?" he asked, leaning over to Hermione. Katie leaned in, too.

"What?" Hermione asked, smiling at Ron as well.

"About the rumors of Emma being, uh, loose," he said.

Katie laughed. "Rumors? Ha." She covered her mouth. "I mean. Oh, look, there are all my friends." She rushed off, casting them a wave as she caught up with a girl her own age.

"Do you think Ron would…?" Hermione asked, sitting down next to Neville.

"I have no idea. We've never really talked about it," he said, feeling something catch in his throat. In a much lower voice he added, "You and I have never talked about it either."

"Morning Harry, Hermione," Neville said from beside them. Seamus nodded smugly at Harry and winked.

"Morning Neville," Hermione said, pulling the orange juice close to her. She purposefully didn't look at Harry. "Excited for classes to begin?"

Neville shrugged. "I guess so. It's all we can do, eh? To keep ourselves alive."

"That or hide at the bottom of a bog," Seamus said, stuffing a fork full of egg into his mouth. He grabbed a piece of toast.

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione, who was determinedly buttering her own piece of toast. He guessed this wasn't the best place to talk. Conceding, he helped himself to breakfast.


End file.
